


Those Gleaming Eyes

by PrudenceKimberly



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-05-19 09:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrudenceKimberly/pseuds/PrudenceKimberly
Summary: An AU that follows the 2004 movie, borrows a bit from the book, and a completely different ending.Christine isn't as terrified of the Phantom as she thinks she is, and she isn't in love with Raoul as he thinks she is. What will happen when the young soprano decides to save her angel? I own nothing but the plot of the story.





	1. Little Lying Delilah

**Author's Note:**

> The story starts in the moments after Christine takes the mask off the Phantom's face in his lair.

She lay on the floor, watching as he thrashed about the alcove, ripping curtains and growling at his own reflection, though the words were clearly meant for her. She'd removed his mask while he was playing the piano - and in retrospect - it wasn't a great idea. He'd trusted her, didn't think she would betray him like this, but she did. Yes, she didn't see it as a betrayal, but the important thing is; he did. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her, and she revealed his face. The one he'd worked so hard to hide from people. The piece of white porcelain he'd used as a shield for so many years, still lay clutched in her hands, her knuckles now almost as white as she gripped it.

He now sat on the steps at her feet, his right hand still clutching his face, keeping it from her view. But she'd already seen it; in the fleeting moment it took him to realize she'd removed his mask; and in the numerous mirrors he'd been glaring at for the past few moments, as his angry rant continued. She was surprised that with all of this commotion, no one had come running into the alcove by now. But she guessed he'd taken his precautions to make sure no sound ever leaves the stone walls. After all, he always plays his piano and composes music, and no one had ever even heard a note.

She snapped out of her own thoughts when she saw how his shoulders slumped. He always struck fear in the hearts of those who had the chance of meeting him before; with his posture, grim look from behind the mask, and the way he carried himself. The way he carried himself, made him look taller than he really was. But now, she found none of that fear-striking posture, nor did she find the confident and talented music Angel before her. All she saw was a broken man, a man who had been walking around with a heavy burden for years, and she was the one who finally broke him. It broke her heart to know that the sense of defeat and surrender he was showing her was her doing. That was not what she meant.

She moved slowly, the white mask still in her hand, and she kneeled next to him. His previously closed eyes flew open when he felt her hand on his shoulder, as she steadied herself in front of him. His grey-blue eyes met her chocolate ones, and he couldn't believe the lack of fear in them.

"This haunted face," she sang, "holds no horror for me now," she continued, his eyes widening in surprise, and his lips parting, the lower one trembling as he drew in shaky breaths.

"It's in a soul," her voice was the soothing remedy he needed, her hand pressing against his chest, over his heart, "that the true distortion lies." she finished, her eyes holding his terrified ones steady, begging him to believe that she truly wasn't afraid of him.

"It takes more than just a scar to scare me," she informed him, and he was still too stunned to talk, "I do not care about what you look like, I've met many horrible people in my life who had the face of an angel." she soothed, smiling sadly when she saw the disbelief in his eyes.

He finally broke their gaze, and looked down at the hand she had resting on his knee to steady herself, the porcelain mask still safely secured in the other, and she made no move to stop him when he reached for it. He turned away from her to put it back on, and he heard her sigh in both sadness and frustration.

Once the mask was back on, it seemed the persona granda he had returned as well. He turned back to her, the defeat and fear from mere seconds ago had completely vanished, replaced by the cold, hard stare he normally had. Even the hint of love she thought she saw before she ripped the mask was gone as well, though she supposed that was her fault. He thinks she took advantage of his vulnerability, betrayed him. And in a way she did. But not so that she could hurt him like he must believe, but so that she could get to know the man behind the mask.

He offered her his hand to help her up, "you must return." he said coldly, and her hand froze midway to his.

"I beg your pardon?" she whispered in shock.

"Those two idiots who run my theatre will be looking for you!" he answered evenly, moving his hand the rest of the way to hers and taking it into his.

The way back to her room was spent in total and utter silence, with her trying to find any landmarks that might help her reach the alcove again on her own. She needed to show him that she won't run and hide just because she caught glimpses of his distorted flesh.

When the finally reached the mirror, he signaled for her to walk through, and without even a single syllable, he shut it behind her. She looked at the mirror sadly, not bothering to hide the hurt from her features, knowing very well that he was still standing behind the mirror, or at least she hoped he was.

"Good Night my Angel." she whispered brokenly, her hand pressed slightly against the mirror, before she left the room and headed for the room she shared with the rest of the ballerina girls.

* * *

 

Christine rushed over to the ballet room, she'd overslept that morning due to her adventures the day before, and now she was sure that she would be behind on the steps for the new opera. She wasn't sure why Madame Giry didn't wake her, or why Meg, or one of the other girls didn't, but she guessed that those questions are better saved for later.

She was still thinking about the events of the previous night; the love she saw shining in his eyes as he looked at her; the care with which he touched her; and the desperation and longing in his voice as he sang to her. And last but not least; the anguish she saw itched in his face when she ripped the mask away, the fear of impending lost, of impending heartbreak. It's true that he lashed out at her, and even threw her to the ground, but she took him by surprise, and she guessed that people never reacted nicely to his face, and the reaction she received last night became more of a second nature - a reflex if you will - to him, rather than something that required thinking and consideration on his part.

She was a bit surprised that when she got back to the room she shared with the other ballerinas, Madame Giry did not inquire about her whereabouts, she only told her to get some sleep. She had spent the better portion of the night contemplating the older woman's strange behavior. It was almost as if she knew where she'd been, who she was with, and saw no reason to be alarmed. It was almost as if she knew the man behind the mask.

Her thoughts hadn't reached a further point the previous night, since her exhaustion overwhelmed her and sleep claimed her before she could contemplate that last thought any further. And now she was also unable to ponder upon it, because she realized that the usually loud music room, was eerily quiet, save for the whispered conversations between the ballerina girls. She snapped out of her thoughts, and the closer she got to the room, the more abundantly clear it became that rehearsals hadn't even started yet.

This struck her as unusual seeing as she knew how punctual Madame Giry was, and she couldn't think of any explanation as to the delay.

Unless…

She picked up her pace and quickly spotted Meg standing at the back of the huddled girls, and headed for her.

"What is going on?" she asked, keeping her voice down, to make sure she doesn't attract the attention of the furious owners.

"The Opera Ghost sent Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Dare letters, and they are furious about it." Meg explained, though her tone hinted that there was still more to the story that she hadn't said yet. She cursed under her breathe at his actions.

"What is it Meg? What aren't you telling me?" She inquired urgently.

Her answer did not come from Meg, however, it came from the angry voice of Monsieur Andre, "he wants that understudy to be the star of the show!" he screamed incredulously, and Christine couldn't help but scowl at his words.

' _He didn't_!' she groaned to herself.

"Need I remind you, Monsieur, that this  _understudy_  as you called her got a standing ovation last night!" Madame Giry reprimanded patronizingly, and Christine couldn't help but feel proud that her mistress was defending her, especially at the monsieur's fallen face. But then the oddity of the older woman's behavior struck her again; she wasn't just defending her, she was also defending the actions of the Phantom, or her angel of music, or whatever his name or moniker may be.     

But why?

She's once again snapped back to planet earth by Monsieur Firmin's voice this time, "people come to this opera house to see Carlotta sing, not some understudy-wanna-be who filled her shoes at the last minute." he retorted, and Christine saw her mistress's jaw clench.

"If she hadn't filled in, Monsieur, it is my understanding that you would've lost quite a large sum. I understand your hesitation to put her in the leading role, but there is no reason for you to undermine her, or to ridicule the man who is very much keeping this opera house open through his music compositions." Madame Giry said firmly, and both owners realized that she was not a woman to be messed with, and wisely decided to keep their mouths shut when they saw the fire in her eyes, as well as the dare for them to prove her mistaken.

"Well, this is NOT his composition, and it is OUR opera house. Ergo, we get to choose who is in lead and who isn't. This Christine Daee will play the role of the mute lover." Monsieur Andre declared, looking directly at Christine, who merely nodded her agreement.


	2. Little Lotte.....Into The Woods We Go

Christine sat on the roof, looking out at the orange fading into the horizon, as she distractedly watched the vapor coming from her mouth with each sigh she released. The day had been an eventful one; the managers were still throwing a fit about the letters they received, and she was still thinking about the events of the previous night. Even though the managers decided to go against the Phantom's wishes and put Carlotta in the leading role, and her as the mute lover, they were still quite furious about the 'audacity' of the actions, as they called it.

Rehearsals had gone by as scheduled after that was decided, and she didn't even dare ask for a speaking role. It was quite obvious the managers were trying to defy the Phantom, and she did not want to give them a reason to cut her out of the play completely; for she knew that this might send him into a blind rage.

She was still a bit angry at his actions, why would he demand that she be the lead? Did he really think that after one night, the crowd would want pay money to see her and not Carlotta? Did he honestly believe the managers will do as he asked? Or was it some form of apology on his part for his actions the previous night? Or maybe even a way to get her to go see him again? Was he really this terrified she was going to run for the hills now that she'd seen his face? Had people really been this inhuman to him throughout his life?

She tried to discuss him with Madame Giry during a short break, but the older woman told her not to ask many questions.

'Curiosity killed the cat, my child' she had warned, giving Christine a look which meant end of discussion.

But Madame Giry did not understand; she did not want to ask about his disfigured face, nor did she care how it came to look like this. She just wanted to learn more about the man within. How he knew Madame Giry? And why was he infatuated with her? And most importantly, how did he come to live beneath the Opera house?

But alas, the head mistress's firm tone and cold stare put an end to her questions, and left her with more questions about the mysterious man than she had the previous night.

She pulled her heavy cape tighter around her body to shield herself from the cold breeze of the night. It hadn't started snowing yet, but it was still cold and she was wearing nothing but her ballerina outfit.

She jerked slightly when a hand was placed on her shoulders, smiling when she met Raoul's blue eyes, "Raoul," she breathed in relief, "you startled me." she reprimanded lightly.

He smiled apologetically at her, "sorry about that little Lottie," he said affectionately, and she smiled at the title, "I did call your name a few times as I walked over here, but you seemed to be quite distracted." he commented, and she averted her gaze to look back at the fading sunlight.

"It's been a long day, that's all." she observed, as he took a seat next to her on the ledge. "I'm sorry about last night, but something came up." she said sincerely, but he didn't look convinced.

"You mean the man who came to your room." he dead-panned, and she whipped around to look at him. "Another admirer I presume?" he wondered, though it was obvious he didn't believe the voice he heard belonged to an admirer.

"You heard him?" she asked in shock, and he nodded.

"I called out for you many times, but you didn't even honor me with a response. He must be very important." he said a bit too condescendingly for her taste, and she was wishing and praying that the Phantom wasn't listening to this conversation somehow.

"He is. He is the man who gave me my voice." she decided to be truthful with him. Well, as truthful as she can be anyways.

"Ah, yes. The mysterious mentor. Tell me Christine, do I get to meet this _mystical_ teacher of yours?" he asked, and she easily spotted the disbelief in his voice.

"He is not mystical, Raoul," she chastised, "he is quite real, and even you heard his voice last night." she reminded, but he still looked skeptical.

"Yes, but it didn't sound like he was complementing you on a job well done." he snapped, "And this morning I hear that this mysterious Opera Ghost has requested that you be the star of the show." he continued.

"Well, I did not ask him to do so, Raoul, and I am very sorry to have caused you any inconvenience." she almost hissed angrily, as she got to her feet and headed for the door.

"Christine, I'm sorry if I offended you. It's not that I don't think you are worthy to be the lead, but the public has yet to know you. You were marvelous last night, and I would love it if one day they paid to see you sing rather than Carlotta. I did not insinuate that you asked him to do such a thing, because he does not exist. It's probably just a publicity stunt by Carlotta or one of her people." he soothed, but it only seemed to anger her even more.

"He is quite real!" she insisted.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, "You don't think that this Opera Ghost is actually your mentor?" he stated in disbelief.

"I don't  _think_ , I  _know!_ " she said defiantly.

"Christine," he breathed, "I'm afraid you have been a prey to a cunning man's evil scheme." he cautioned her.

"I've been there." she declared, and he looked at her in shock.

"I beg your pardon."

"I've been there, down to his world. A world of unending night, a world where daylight dare not enter, a world where even candlelight dissolves into darkness," she ranted, "I saw him, touched him. He sang to me…" she lamented fondly.

"Christine." he tried again, but she pulled away from him to face the now darkening sky.

"His voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound….in the night there was music in my mind," she continued, her voice taking on a soft, melodic tone, "and through music my soul began to sour." she confessed, and the hint of love wasn't lost on him, and it annoyed him to great lengths.

"And I've heard as I've never heard before!" she finished, a radiant, wistful smile on her face.

"What you've heard was a dream and nothing more!" he objected once more, this time a bit too harshly.

"This was no dream, and if you do not wish to believe me; that is your business. But please do not be so rude as to tell me what I have and have not seen or dreamt!" she snapped, and he was a bit taken aback by her tone, "I am very sorry for last night's trouble, but as I tried to tell you, he is very strict when it comes to me leaving the Opera, especially after an exhausting night such as the previous one. So if you please, next time give me a chance to answer your proposition instead of assuming to know my answer." she lectured firmly, before she headed for the door without another word.

She was glad when she did not hear his footsteps following her, for she had no time for him right now, she had another mission to accomplish. She made her way through the countless workers and ropes, ignoring all of their remarks, or questions about her destination, for it was honestly none of their business. She was hoping that Carlotta would have left already, and that her room would be unlocked. For the only way she knew to reach the alcove, was through the mirror in her room.

She nearly danced with joy when she saw no light from under the door, she slowed down her pace and looked around. When she found no one, she slowly reached for the knob as she closed her eyes in a silent prayer. She cracked her eyes open when she heard the faint click of the latch, and she hurriedly scurried into the room and closed the door behind her, even going as far as locking it, for she wanted no interruptions.

She took slow, almost hesitant steps towards the mirror and looked at her reflection, "Angel." she called hopefully, but no answer came. She pressed both her hands against the mirror, and pushed on it with all her might, but it refused to budge. She tried sliding it, but still to no avail.

She stood back, her hands on her hips as she contemplated her next move. This was the only way she knew of reaching the alcove, and now it was blocked. Had he locked it the night before to stop her from coming after him? Or was it just that she hadn't figured out how to open it yet?

A loud bang startled her, and she whirled around thinking that someone had broken the door to get in. She was relieved when she saw the door still standing in its frame, and that she was still the only one in the room.

'You fool, I told you to wait until you hear the click of the latch!' she heard someone yell angrily, and it gave her an idea.

She stood up on her toes as she felt around the frame of the mirror for the latch, nearly crying out in joy when her fingertips found a bulge in one of the corners, and pressed it. A surprised shriek escaped her when she lost her footing and lunged forward - since she had her entire weight supported on the mirror when she pressed on the latch - and the mirror moved under the weight of her body, and allowed Christine to slide it to the side enough for her to enter the seemingly endless corridor. Once she was inside, she moved the mirror back , and heard the latch clicking back into place. Then she started her journey.

She scanned the stone walls for any signs of trouble, traps or alarms that might warn him of her existence before she wanted it announced, but found none, or at least none that she could find. She moved slowly at first, her neck stretched out a little as her eyes moved wildly around her, her hands clenched into a fist. After a few steps, she became more confident and started to move a bit quicker, after all, she hasn't got all night. The corridor seemed to have no end, and she was starting to wonder if she was lost, or if she should get back and wait for him to find her, when she spotted the winding staircase he had led her down. She smiled happily, and exhaled in relief when she saw how it wound down to where the horse was standing the night before, giving her the boast of confidence she needed. And so, she rushed down the steps, past the slope and found herself at the edge of the lake…..but no boat.

She cursed under breath, her eyes darting around in search for another way aside from swimming, but found none. She saw that she didn't have to swim all the way to the alcove, but rather to one of the other stony corridors. She sat on the edge, discarded the heavy cape she wore, leaving only her ballerina outfit, and slowly lowered herself into the water, refusing to let go till her feet touched the ground, and made sure that the water was not too deep for her.

She furrowed her eyebrows as she strained to see if the ground remains leveled, or if they descend gradually to the point where she will no longer be able to walk. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't determine how deep or leveled it was, so she decided to venture and take a step. She slowly stretched out her foot in front of her, then slowly put her weight onto it. When the water remained at her waist, she took another one, and then another. She finally reached the desired stony structure, but realized it was a bit too high for her to jump, so she moved around the corner a little to try and get to somewhere where she's able to get onto it. Her entire focus was on the task of looking for a lower place to jump, which proved to be a big mistake, almost a deadly one. For if she hadn't been completely focused on the walls, she would've seen the noose where her foot was about to step right in the middle of, and she wouldn't have found herself sinking beneath the levels of the water.

She screamed in both surprise and panic when she felt the rope close around her ankle and pull her down, before she was fully submerged. She yanked desperately at the rope, as she tried to find her footing with the other foot. She momentarily found the ground and was able to push herself up to the surface but only for a few seconds. Few very precious seconds that proved to be enough to save her life.

"Angel!" she screamed, before the water swallowed her once more.

She was yanking at the rope as she tried to loosen the noose, her entire body thrashing about in panic, as her lungs cried for oxygen, when an arm snaked around her waist, and the tugging on her ankle ceased. She felt herself rise, and soon precious air entered her lungs, as she gasped and coughed. The arm that had snaked around her waist hadn't let go yet, and she wiped away the water from her face and opened her eyes to look at who her savior was, though she had a feeling she already knew.

She couldn't help but smile when she found herself staring back into the terrified and worried eyes of her angel, as his other arm went under her knees and picked them up, so she was fully in his arms now.

"Thank you." she said sincerely.

"Are you alright?" he asked in concern.

"I am now." she replied truthfully, but saw how he refused to believe her.

He swiftly walked to the alcove without any other surprises, with her still secured in his arms.

"That was a nice unexpected surprise." she commented reprimandingly, and he looked at her remorsefully.

"I put that in to protect myself against anyone who wished me harm, I most certainly did not intend for you to get trapped in it." he said sincerely, and she smiled at the hint of love she heard in his voice, as well as the gleam of it that was slowly creeping into his tortured eyes.

"I know." was her simple, yet sincere answer. Her heart twisting when she saw the surprise in his eyes at her words. Had the world really been this horrible to him?

She hadn't realized that they reached the alcove till she felt him lower her onto the piano bench, as he hurried towards the fire and added more wood to it. She watched him as he disappeared behind one of the curtains only to return a few seconds later with a heavy velvet blanket, which he quickly placed around her. She had to stop herself from dancing with joy when he started rubbing her arms in an effort to warm her.

"Thank you." she said gratefully, and he froze. Almost as if he hadn't realized what he was doing, and her words were the reminder he needed. He immediately took his hands back, and diverted his attention to the rope that was still around her ankle. She watched as he expertly loosened the knot, and swiftly slid it off her ankle, before he continued to examine it closely.

"It doesn't hurt." she informed him, and once again he stopped what he was doing, and released her ankle.

"Why are you here?" he asked, as he got to his feet and turned away from her.

"To see you." she answered simply, and his head jerked around to look at her, his mouth slightly open from the shock.

His eyes followed her movements as she pulled the blanket tighter around her body and got up from the bench. He watched her as she closed the distance between them, her eyes pleading with him to believe that sincerity of her words. And as much as he wanted to believe her, his years of experience told him that it would only end in heartbreak.

"Do you think that just because I saw your face that I would run and hide?" she asked expectantly, and his silence was all the answer she needed.

"I told you before, I do not care about the way you look. I care more about what is in here." she soothed, as she pressed her hand once more over his heart.

"In that case, the distortion is even greater than the one on my face." he retorted, though he made no move to push her hand away.

"I don't believe that," she objected calmly, "you wouldn't have saved me if it were true." she reminded him.

"I wouldn't have put the trap to begin with." he shot back.

"People can be cruel sometimes, and I am sure that you had your reasons to try and protect yourself."

Her words were like a bucket of freezing waters to the fire burning within his soul; they were sincere, they were heartfelt, they had no ulterior motives.

"Why did you come here?" he asked tentatively.

"Because I did not leave you on a happy memory last night." she replied, "I did not mean to betray your trust, I only wanted to know the man behind the mask." she explained. "I realize now that it was wrong for me to do so, I am sure that many people did not react kindly to your face in the past, but I am not one of them." she continued.

"Why didn't you tell your  _Vicomte_  all that today? Why did you only tell him about a world with endless night?" he snapped, and she couldn't help the smile. She was right after all, he  _was_ listening. 

"Because I did not wrong him, I wronged you, and whatever happened between us is none of his business. And I told him about the night, so he could believe me when I claim that it was not a dream." she said simply.

"And now it is my turn to ask questions." she stated firmly, and he nodded at her expectantly, "why did you send those letters to the managers?" she asked.

"How I choose to run my theater is none of your concern, I merely did what I saw fit." he replied, a bit too harshly.

"Well, you certainly have the right to do so as long as you do not drag me into it," she snapped defiantly, "this is not your composition, and you had no right to such claims." she continued.

"Carlotta has no talent, she merely has a high pitched voice. You are a thousand times the singer she will ever be, and those two fools need to see that." he hissed, "and it seemed that not even the _Vicomte_ could see that for himself, and was running after the mindless talent for the sake of the money!" he barked through gritted teeth.

"Why do you care so much about what Raoul does, or what I think of him?" she asked, one eyebrow arching up.

Her words surprised him, and for the first time in forever, he found himself to be speechless. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that, but she was still expecting an answer.

"I simply do not wish for a fop like him to play games with you." he finally said, his voice a bit hoarse.

"That's strange. He thought that you were the one playing games with me." she teased, smirking when she saw the fire in his eyes, and how it angered him. Even jealousy peeked its green head through the mask of indifference.

"Well, then he's a fool." he snapped.

"Well, fool or not, I am afraid I must return now. If I oversleep again the managers might cut me out of the opera all together." she informed him regretfully.

"They wouldn't dare!" he said threateningly, before he helped her into the boat, and they both headed back.

That night, Christine slept soundly in her bed, with the the knowledge that now she can always find her Angel, and that he is always watching over her.


	3. Your Part Is Silent Little Toad

Christine was one happy ballerina girl when she finally curled up under her heavy and warm duvet, closing her eyes as a dreamy - yet satisfied - smile graced her lips. She and the Phantom had barely said a word to each other as he led her back to the mirror. And that's what satisfied her; for she felt that - for once - she was the one in control.

She sat behind him on the boat, pretending to watch her surroundings, and not notice how he tried to steal glances of her as he rowed down the lake. Once her feet were on concrete grounds, she turned to him, thanked him for rowing her and wished him a good night. She hadn't meant to hurt him, she merely wanted to spare him the trip. She felt a pang of guilt when his face fell, and pleading, tortured eyes met her own. He asked if he could walk her back to the mirror, his eyes begging her to agree.

She smiled reassuringly at him, and silently nodded her consent, before she looped her arm through his. Her heart broke when she felt how rigid he'd gotten, and saw the shock on his face, as he gaped at her hand, resting comfortably in the bend of his arm.

Once they reached the mirror, she saw the desire to not let her go in his eyes. She wished him goodnight, as she gave his arm one last, reassuring and friendly squeeze, before walking through the mirror. She could feel how hesitant he was to let her go, how he tightened his arm around her hand, and she understood the urge to do so. After all, she was probably the only human being who has ever shown him mercy and compassion after laying eyes on his deformed face. Aside from Madame Giry, that was. Though she wasn't sure if her Head Mistress ever saw his face.

And now, as she lay in her bed, looking back on the events of the day, she found that she had absolutely no regrets. She didn't regret not talking to him on the way back, she didn't regret going to find him and she most certainly no longer regretted unmasking him.

* * *

The next couple of weeks went by smoothly; rehearsals for the new opera during the day, some general ballerina rehearsals in the afternoons, and vocal coaching from Mr. Reyer. She had not seen nor heard from the Phantom at all, and it was starting to become a bit unnerving. Save for the notes through Madame Giry to the directors - which they promptly ignored after throwing hissy fits about - it was almost as if he disappeared off the face of the Earth.

And seeing as fate seemed to have a grudge against her, she could not find a moment to sneak into Carlotta's dressing room to use the mirror. Either the room would be locked, or Meg would not leave her alone - or worse - Raoul.

Raoul, her childhood friend, the one who used to play with her on the beach as her father played his violin, the one who used to sit by her as her father told stories, was now the biggest annoyance in her life.

She cared for him deeply, but only as her friend, as someone whom she had shared history and fond memories with. Not someone she wished to be wed to. But it seemed he viewed her that way, he had hinted at it in many ways, and she ignored them all. He would buy her lavish presents, and take her out to fancy diners. Sometimes she would accept, and sometimes she would come up with an excuse not to go, or accept the presents, hoping that he might understand the subtle signs, but it seemed he was thicker than she remembered.

He'd tried to open the subject of her 'dreams' and her 'mystical teacher', but she'd snapped at him.

'Raoul, please do not insult my intelligence by pretending to believe me. What I saw or heard is my business, and what I choose to believe is also my business, and neither are any of your concern. And I would like it very much if we never spoke of those particular subjects again.' she almost hissed at him. Her voice was harsh, authoritative and intimidating. She had smiled kindly at him, when she saw the shocked expression on his face, keeping her smirk to herself, and kindly thanked him when he nodded his agreement, and followed it with a 'anything for my Little Lottie', at which she forced a smile onto her face.

She had gone to Madame Giry, and tried to ask her if she could deliver a note, but the older woman denied knowing how to reach the Phantom. Only that he knows how to reach her, and since Christine had decided to keep her little adventure to herself, she did not volunteer the knowledge about the mirror.

* * *

It was opening night, and the hallways of the Opera Poppulaire were hustling and bustling with the mixed sounds of repair, stage men giving out orders to each other, the ballerina girls chatting away all sorts of things, the busy feet of maids and other people as they got ready, and the distant echoes of the ushers as they led the audience to their seats.

Christine stood in front of her dresser, applying the make-up necessary for the role. She couldn't help but reflect on her missing Angel, the sight of any mirror these days brought back memories of him. She kept wondering why he didn't contact her for the past couple of weeks, she had felt his presence numerous times during rehearsals, but he never showed himself to her. Was it because she had gone out with Raoul a few times? Was it because of the lavish gifts? Does he think that something is going on between them? Is this…

Her train of thoughts was interrupted when Madame Giry barged into the room to announce that they need her on stage. She checked herself out in the mirror one last time, adjusting her coat and hair before she took her leave. Her hand had lingered a bit longer in her hair, as the sudden thought that he might be watching her through that mirror entered her mind, could it be?

But seeing as an impatient Madame Giry was standing in the door way, huffing out a 'hurry up child' every two seconds, she couldn't check for any secret latches or hidden passages behind it.

She followed Madame Giry, and took her place on stage. Maybe he would be watching her tonight, maybe he would contact her now that rehearsals would calm down a bit. She only hoped that the fact that she was playing the mute servant won't anger him, and that he won't do anything rash because of it.


	4. Box Five

"Did I not instruct, that box five, was to be kept….empty," his voice bellowed through the grand hall, as he let the last syllable of 'empty' drag on for effect.

Christine cursed under her breath; her prayers were not answered, and now he seemed so angry, that he was literally picking a fight over a box! It seemed that one of the many curses floating around in her head, escaped out of her mouth. She heard Carlotta speak to her, and her head reflexively turned towards her. She saw her lips moving, but did not hear a single word. She was trying to think of a way to calm him down, without letting the entire audience know she had a connection with him. His faint mumbling reached her ears, and even though she could not make out the words, she knew he was not pleased. In the few times she'd heard him mumble under his breath, he was not pleased, and it mostly did not end well. 

The grand hall was silent, almost as if solely occupied by corpses. Every single person sitting still as a statue, and holding their breath in anticipation of the Opera Ghost's next word. Or worse, his next move.

Once more, Carlotta's voice entered unwelcomed into her train of thoughts, and when she looked at her, she saw her walking back to her previous position. She hadn't even noticed that she left, even though with the dress she was in, it was kind of hard not to notice her.

Her eyes finally focused again, and she tried to push her troubled thoughts to the side, to get this opera over with. She was going to go deal with him later. But right now, she had an opera to finish.

The music played again, and Carlotta started to sing. She had gone back a few lines, so they can move on with the scene. Christine braced herself for the high note Carlotta was about to release - which would leave her slightly deaf without a doubt - but it never came. Instead, she released this sound that sounded more like a burp than anything else. And every time she tried to get the note right, it only got worse.

This, evidently, was the much needed incentive to awake the seemingly dead crowd. The orchestra started to mumble, as the maestro tried to quiet them down. The audience's laughter slowly grew with each attempt Carlotta made to hit the higher note. She saw the managers get rattled, and spring from their seats, just as Carlotta released a cat-like shriek and bolted off the stage. The curtain closed, and she was catatonically dragged onto the stage.

The voices of the managers entered her dazed state, and their voices snapped her out of it.  _She was going to be the lead._

She didn't have time to object, for she was once more dragged behind the curtain, and rushed backstage to get her custom on. She saw the workers setting up one of the general ballet sketches to fill the time till she gets ready, and this somehow made her fists clench.

Not only was she cursing under her breath, she was  _really_  mad this time. She had no doubt in her mind, that he was the one who did something to Carlotta's spray; she had no doubt in her mind that his plan was to sabotage Carlotta's performance, just so the managers wouldn't have any other choice, but to put her in the lead. And she was willing to bet her life, that he interrupted the show, striking fear into all of their hearts - except for hers - and made a fuss about some viewing box, just so that Carlotta would go freshen up! She was really going to give him a piece of her mind, once this opera was over.

* * *

The wretched thing was finally over, she bowed to the audience, smiled at their various sounds of amazement and awe, thanked them for the standing ovation, and finally blew them a kiss of gratitude for coming. She had done her part as the diva, and now she wanted to get out of the ridiculous costume, and go yell at her angel. She had told him not to do anything stupid, not to interfere when the composition was not his. But of course, he paid her no attention. She knew he meant well, she knew he was just looking out for her, that this was probably his way of showing her how much he loved her, but it was the wrong way.

As soon as the curtain closed once again, she sprinted off the stage, and made her way to the door that led to the back. Once she was there, she immediately knew that something was off. People were standing around, almost like guards, most of the men were angry, and some of the maids were crying, while others commented that 'he' deserved it.

Her heart sank, could it be? Did someone catch her Angel and hurt him?

She scanned her surroundings in search of someone she can ask for more details, when she spotted a policeman, and her heart raced. Fear started seeping through her veins, every single bad scenario ran through her head, as she hesitantly walked towards him.

With every step she took, more policemen became visible, and it became more and more obvious that something horrible had happened. She finally spotted Madame Giry, standing with one of them, and she made her way towards her. Before she could set two steps in the desired direction, two police officers blocked her way with a gurney they were pushing. Said gurney, had a body lying on top of it, with a white sheet covering its face.

She allowed some hope to creep into her heart, when she noted that the body was too short to be her Angel. And a bit too fat, if she was being honest.

She halted the men before they wheeled him away, and grabbed the sheet. She closed her eyes in anticipation as she raised it, prolonging the moment when she lay eyes on the face beneath it, just in case it truly was her Angel. She opened them when she estimated that she pulled the sheet back enough, and finally looked at the face.

She nearly exhaled in relief when she saw that the man beneath the sheet, was none other than their drunk, and womanizing stage worker; Joseph Bouquet.

She put the sheet back on his face, and moved to the side to allow them to pass through, before making her way towards Madame Giry.

"This is Ms. Christine Daee, our arising soprano," Madame Giry introduced, when one of the officers saw her, and pointed his finger in her direction.

"Did you hear any commotion, Miss?" he asked politely.

"No, I'm afraid not, Monsieur. I was singing, and all I heard was the music. You can't really hear what goes on backstage, if you're on it," she replied truthfully.

"Do you have any idea who would want to harm Monsieur Bouquet?" he asked once more.

She'd been waiting for that question, and had managed to school her features into an innocent expression; one that would not arouse suspicions, or make them suspect her of lying.

"You suspect someone did this to him?" she asked in astonishment.

"No, but we have to be sure."

"I'm afraid I did not know him that well," she said softly.

"Thank you."

She gave him a small head nod, and he tapped his hat at both her and Madame Giry, before they both took their leave. Once they were out of earshot, she turned to Madame Giry, the question already evident in her eyes.

"They found him hanging from one of the beams," she replied sadly, her finger rising to point in the general direction of said beam.

"They think he probably got caught in a noose, lost his footing, and fell to his death," she added, and Christine nodded.

"You need to go change, you have done very well my darling," Madame Giry complimented, before she left to attend to the panicking ballerina girls.

Christine walked to the place the older woman had said they found Bouquet, and craned her neck to look at the beam. She took another step forward, when her foot kicked something that she hadn't seen. She looked down, and caught the tip of something shiny…..sharp….and red.

She knelt down, and reached for it, her heart sinking when she recognized the object as a pocket knife….with fresh blood on it. She'd seen Bouquet's body, there were no wounds on it, there was no blood. And upon further inspection of the knife, she found something carved in the handle. She moved it a little, to try and get a better visual.

They were initials….JB….Joseph Bouquet.

So if it were  _his_  knife, and  _his_  body had no wounds on it, that leaves only one possibility as to the identity of both the attacker, and the victim to whom the blood belonged …..her Angel.

With that dreadful realization, she sprinted towards the chapel, and ran inside. She made her way to a specific wall, removed one of its tiles, and grabbed the satchel behind it, before once again making her way out. She ran towards the changing room, already working with her free hand on untying the lace on the dress. She only stopped - momentarily - when she reached the door to us that hand to open the door, slip inside, and lock it behind her. She threw the things she had with her onto the vanity chair, and proceeded to basically rip the clothes away from her body. She needed to be in something that made it easy for her to move, just in case she had to swim again, she can't do it in the dress that she was in.

Once the dress was off, she grabbed one that looked more like a nightgown than anything else and pulled it over her head, before bending over the vanity to hastily rub off the makeup.

Once she looked like herself again, she checked that the door was locked once more, before she grabbed the satchel and knife, and made her way to the mirror. She raised her hand, easily locating the latch, and pressed it. The mirror once again moved under her weight, and she only let it slide enough to let her pass, before she closed it back all the way. And this time….she made sure she heard the latch click closed.


	5. Down Once More

She rushed down the now too familiar dark and stony corridor, down the stairs, and all the way to the lake. Her happiness at the sight of the small boat was short lived, when the obvious question presented itself; how was the boat here if he returned to the alcove? Does that mean he's wounded and unable to return?

His voice echoed in her head, a distant memory when she was still a child, 'close your eyes, for when the mind cannot see, the true beauty of the world is revealed; through the ears.'

And so, she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm herself, and strained her ears in an effort to pick up any sound, anything that might indicate where he could be. First, she heard the faint sound of rippling waves as it hit the sides of the boat, and the stones; then the rhythmic beat of the boat against the dock; the horses hoofs as he moved around his stall; his heavy breathing, almost as if knowing that his master was in distress; she could almost hear the sound of her own heartbeat…..and then….there it was.

The faint grunts of pain, followed by labored breaths. She closed her eyes harder, trying to isolate all the ambient sounds, and focus solely on the one sound she wanted. After a few seconds, her eyes flew open, after finally determining for sure, that they were indeed coming from the alcove. She threw the satchel into the boat, before bending down to untie the rope tying the boat to the dock. Once the boat was free from the dock, she grabbed the rowing stick, and jumped into the boat, before she used the stick to push herself away from the dock.

Rowing the wretched thing proved to be a difficult task, it took all of her strength to pivot the stick on the ground, and almost double that strength to push the boat towards the alcove. Each push took a few failed tries, the stick would give away a couple of times, before she would manage to keep it still long enough to push. After a few pushes, an annoying thought intruded unwelcomed into her jumbled thoughts; what if the gate was closed? How will she get in then?

She did remember how they opened the first night she came with him, but she was far too entranced by everything to notice how he did it. Not to mention the fact that he was standing behind her, and sadly, she did not have eyes in the back of her head.

Once she estimated the gate was right around the corner, she craned her neck to see if indeed the greatest obstacle in her path was there. But it seemed that fate had a sick sense of humor, and she could not make out for sure if it was open or not, she couldn't even make out a reflection in the water, and she resigned to the fate that she will have to wait to see.

She tried to row faster, but it was easier said than done, the boat was deceptively heavy, and the task proved to be quiet a taxing one. But after a few hard pushes, she was finally able to make out the gates, and half sighed in relief. They weren't down, but they weren't up either, but she could not discern for a fact if she can pass from under it or not. After a few more strokes, it became clear that in order for her to pass, she would have to sit down in the boat, if not completely lie down.

She managed to get the first half of the boat under the gates, before she abandoned the stick on the floor of the boat, and laid on her back. She grabbed the protruding metal with her hands, and pulled the boat through the gate. A surprised shriek left her lips when the gates suddenly started to pull her up, and she let go of her hands reflexively.

She pulled herself up onto her elbows, and looked to her right. Her lips carved up in a soft smile, before it fell and worry flooded her when she saw the bloody patch on his shirt. He had a rag pressed to his side, his face contorted in both pain, and surprise at her presence. His hand was still on the latch that lifted the gates, and she saw the slight tremble, his knuckles deathly white as he gripped the handle, and it dawned on her that he was supporting his weight on it.

She pulled herself carefully to her feet, and stood in the boat as it glided softly on the surface of the water. A warm, worried and reassuring smile graced her lips, as her brown eyes locked with his surprised - and slightly panicked - eyes. The soft echoes of the rippling water beneath the gliding boat, and the soft glow of the countless candles he had gave an almost mesmerizing scene with her at its center. A scene so mesmerizing to him that his current state momentarily slipped his mind, and he took a step forward, only for the sharp pain that shot through him to remind him of his abilities, and also had him doubling over. 

A soft gasp left her lips, her hands shooting out, as if she wanted to catch him, before she sat back down, swung her legs over the edge of the boat, and swiftly slid into the water. It wasn't that deep, a little over her knees, making it easy for her to relatively rush through it towards her Angel of Music. He was bent over at the waist, one hand pressed against his waist, while the other supported his weight on a nearby rock. His face was contorted in immense pain, but his eyes were still watching her every move, and she saw the shock at her presence, not to mention the fear of her impending evaporation into thin air, when his mind finally comes out of the pained state it was in.

She smiled softly at him, her eyes begging him to believe in her presence, her facial muscles nearly spasmed in her attempt to hide the worry from her features, and show him assurance instead. But alas, the years of bad experience won over, and the fear did not dissipate until her hand had covered his over the wound. He watched her brows crease in worry, when the mere attempt to move his hand caused the blood to gush once more.

"Let's get you to bed, so I can get a better look at that wound," she instructed, her eyes once again meeting his.

His lips were slightly apart, both in shock and as an effort to get more air into his lungs. The fear was still there, but for a different reason; what was he going to say when she asked about his state and the dead body?

But to his surprise, she did not ask anything, but silently slid her arm around his waist, and slung his over her shoulders, careful not to put any pressure over the wound, as she navigated him towards the bed she had slept in before.

If this was a dream, he did not want to wake up. She was here, once again, and on her own accord. He did not trick her, he did not entice her, he did not force her…..she came to him, she sought him out, and she was worried about him. That much he could not deny, it was clear as the sun at noon.

He could not take his eyes off of her, her eyes focused ahead of her to avoid tripping over anything, her chest heaving from the effort of supporting his weight. He tried to take some of the weight off of her, but all that accomplished was him losing his footing, when his leg gave out beneath him.

Cristine instinctively bent her knees, as she tightened her hold on him, accidentally putting pressure on the sore wound, making him wince.

"Do you think you can make it to the bed? Or do you want to stop?" she asked.

"No, I can keep going," he answered, his voice showing the amount of pain and discomfort he was in.

"Are you sure?" she pressed, "I mean, I can't exactly carry you if you faint," she quipped, and he couldn't help the chuckle.

All that served as a good distraction, and before he knew it, they had already gone up the few steps that separated the rooms from the rest of the alcove, for he was really just following her lead.

He limped the rest of the way, and she slowly guided him onto the bed. He grunted, and cursed under his breath at the pain, as he laid down.

"Keep your hand on it, I'll be right back," she stated, before rushing out of the room.

She basically sprinted down the steps, trying to recall everything Madame Giry taught her about cleaning a wound, and getting the blood to stop. She was glad when she saw that the boat hadn't drifted back up the waterway, and with a bite to her cheek, she went back into the water, but pulled the boat with her, as opposed to just getting the satchel.

Once the boat was in place, she tied it to the rock, grabbed the satchel, and sprinted back to the room. Her wet dress stuck to her leg, making her shiver slightly, and also making it a bit more difficult to move as fast as she hoped.

Once he entered the room again, she stood for a few seconds in an attempt to decide the best way to approach him. She did not want to make him move much, so she went around the bed to the other side, lifted the wet dress away from her legs, before she sat down next to him.

She wasted no time in opening the satchel, and pulling its contents out and spreading them onto the bed in front of her. He was surprised when he saw that it was  wound care utensils.

"Where did you get those?" he asked.

"Madame Giry kept a few of them spread around the opera, one of them was at the Chapel," she explained.

"Yes, but how did you know you will need it?" he wondered evasively, he wanted to know if she knew Bouquet was dead, and if she suspected him, but without actually asking about it.

"I found the knife on the ground, there was blood on it," she started, "and I saw Bouquet's body, he wasn't the one bleeding…"she trailed off, knowing he knew what the rest of the sentence would be.

"He attacked," he said quickly, "I was just trying to knock him unconscious, I didn't see the knife, till it was too late," he continued, and she smiled softly at him, as her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, and made quick work of them.

"I didn't mean to kill him, I was going to remove the noose when he loses consciousness, but he tripped and fell," he finished, before a wince escaped his lips, when she pulled the shirt away from the wound.

"Don't talk, it makes the blood come out faster," she instructed, her eyes still focused on the wound, as she used a piece of cloth to clean it.

He closed his eyes in pain, not because of his wound, but because her silence proved that she did not believe him, and that like everyone else, she believed he was a blood-thirsty murderer.

He hissed in pain, and instinctively grabbed a hold of her wrist, when the cloth came into contact with the wound once more, except this time it was dipped in something, and it burned. Her hand immediately covered his, and she rubbed his knuckles with her thumb comfortingly.

"I know it stings, but I need to clean the wound before I wrap it," she explained softly, before her fingers magically unwound his from around her wrist. To his surprise, she kept her hold on his hand, and worked with the other.

She was gentle, trying her best not to put any unnecessary pressure on the wound. Once she was satisfied that the wound was clean, she freed her hand from his grasp, and carefully inspected how deep the wound was.

"Looks like I won't need to sow it," she remarked, as she ripped away at a big piece of cloth.

"Where did you learn all of that?" he asked.

"When I turned fourteen, Madame Giry taught me so I can take care of the younger ballerina girls if they fell," she recounted, as she secured the cloth to his side.

She grabbed a longer strip of cloth, pressed on top of the folded one, took a hold of the other end, and slid her hand under him, and all the way to the other side. The feel of her hand, and arm on his bare skin, had his entire body on fire. His skin crawled with desire, and he closed his eyes to savor the moment, and burn the feeling into his brain.

Once she was satisfied that it was secured to his side, she put the things back into the satchel, before she pursed her lips in thought.

"You need to get out of this shirt," she stated, and he nodded. He was still in shock at how she handled him with ease, no fear, no trepidation, nothing. He was still unwilling to believe that she cared for his will being, despite all the glaring signs, but a voice within him told him that it will only end in heart break.

She helped him get his arm out of the sleeve, before she helped him into a half sitting position, pulled the shirt around, and slid it down the other arm. He was surprised when she threw the shirt into the fire, without cringing that is. He watched the flames eat away at the shirt, and only looked back at her, when he felt her hands on his.

She held his pained eyes steady, her thumbs still stroking his knuckles gently, "I know you didn't mean to kill Joseph, and I suspected that he attacked you," she said calmly, chuckling softly when his mouth fell open in shock, "he was a drunk, and did not have his head on right half the time. If you wanted to kill him, you would've done it a very long time ago," she finished confidently.

Her words were like the soothing remedy he so desperately needed, the softness of her voice, the lack of accusation, the amount of faith she had in him. They were all things that baffled him, for he was not used to it. He had always watched people express those feeling to one another from afar, but never in his life has anyone expressed anything remotely resembling what Cristine was to him. He desperately wanted to believe that she loved him as much as he loved her, but how can such a pure soul love a man whose soul's existence was questionable? How can she claim that the true distortion was in a soul, and yet deny that he has any distortions? How can she even claim that he has a soul?

All of those thoughts bounced around in his head, as he struggled to keep the confusion and despair out of his eyes, and only show her the confident, cold man the world knew. The softness in her warm brown eyes was killing him slowly, it was eating away at his defenses, eroding the walls he put around himself, and it seemed that the harder he tried to stop it, the stronger it got.

He knew that trying to stop himself from falling for her was futile, seeing as he was madly in love with her. But he had to stop himself from wanting her for himself, he had to stop himself from falling into the claws of hope, he had to put her first, and if he truly loved her, then he can never wish for her to stay with him. His life was not even worthy of being called as such, it was mere existence. The only time he could honestly say that he lived, was the time he spent with her, even if she was not aware of his presence. Of course those few precious moments she spent with him as well, talking to him, looking at him, touching him….well, those were the moments he will forever hold close to him…those were the moments that made all the suffering of the world worthwhile.

She leaned over him, her chestnut curls cascading down with her movements, and lightly brushing against his naked torso. Her hand was still in his, as she used the other one to free the sheets from under him. The feel of her hand in his, the way her hair brushed against him, all of that made it very difficult for him to control his desires…..that animalistic, raw desire that he did not know he possessed.

He wanted to hold her, kiss her, show her how much he loved her…..but alas, he knew that it will never happen.

"Try to get some rest, don't move a lot, or suddenly for that matter, otherwise the wound may bleed again. Try to get some sleep, and I will come by tomorrow," she instructed firmly, yet gently.

His mind was still having a hard time controlling the lust that was seeping through his veins, and so the only response he could muster was a nod.

She smiled at him, before she got up to her feet. But rather than turn around and head for the door, she bent at the waist once more, and to his surprise, she kissed his cheek.

It was like a shock shot through his system, he had spent nights trying to imagine what it would feel like for her to kiss him, trying to picture what it would be like to feel her lips on his cheek. And no matter how great a feeling his mind made it seem to be, it was nothing compared to the one that was coursing through his body right now, adding to his lust for her.

"Sweet dreams," she said softly, but this time, he was too stunned to talk, or even nod.


	6. Shape In The Shadows....This Loathsome Gargoyle

Christine was glad the day didn't hold anything for her; no rehearsals, no new moves to learn, no letters from the 'Opera Ghost' for the managers to through tantrums over. Just a day to wander about and do as she pleased. It was almost midnight by the time she made it back to the sleeping hall the previous night, for taking care of the Phantom took longer than she thought. All the ballerina girls, as well as Madame Giry, were fast asleep when she tiptoed into the room, and she quietly snuck into bed. It didn't take long for her to drift off to sleep, all of her anger towards the Phantom's earlier actions no longer present, but not forgotten. She was still going to talk to him about it, but in the morning. He had a rough night, and he needed to rest, not get rattled up defending his actions.

And so, she was pleased when none of the girls bothered her in the morning, and they all left her to sleep. She didn't awake, till the sun shone brightly over her face, and the chirping of the birds outside the window became too much to ignore. Her eyes fluttered open, took in the sight of the empty room, before they fell shut again. She took a deep breath through her nose, held it in for a few seconds, before releasing it slowly as her eyes fluttered open once more.

Winter was approaching Paris quickly, and now the mornings were as cold as the nights. This made her reluctant to leave the comfort and warmth of her bed, but the thought of a wounded Phantom quickly gave her an incentive to move. She pushed the covers off of her, and with one last sigh, she pulled herself up.

* * *

He did not recall the last time he slept so soundly, or the last time he slept till this time of day. His pocket watch was next to him on the bed, no doubt left there by Christine, so he was surprised when he realized that noon was not that far away.

It still felt like a dream to him, a beautiful dream that he did not wish to awake from. Christine was here, she came to him, she was concerned about him, she took care of his wound, she believed him about what happened. She didn't accuse him of anything, she did not even ask, she waited for him to tell her on his own, and she took his word for it.

He could still feel her skin as it caressed his own, how her hair tickled his bare body, the desire that spread within him like wild fire. Such lustrous desire that he did not know he possessed, such animalistic instincts that left his skin tingling until now.

He looked down at the wound - probably for the hundredth time since Christine bandaged it - to reassure himself that it really was there, that the events of the previous night were not a figment of his imagination, that they really happened.

He was still entranced, still enticed, still trapped inside his own thoughts. He was battling his demons, his fears, his years of bad experience and heartbreak. He was basking in the care she gave him, but he was still battling his own troubled and damaged soul to allow himself to believe that she really cared for him. He wanted to soothe his aching heart, soothe the longing within him for her. He wanted - for probably the first time in his life - to have real hope. He wanted -  _needed_ \- to believe that she cared for him as well. He knew she will never love him as much as he loved her, for his love knew no boundaries, no sacrifice was too much if it was for her, no price was too high for pay for one word of love from her.

His trance was interrupted by the sound of something bumping against the rocks, and he was immediately on alert. He pulled himself up to a sitting position, grinding on his teeth to stop the various sounds of pain from escaping his lips, used one hand to press against the wound, while using the other to push himself to his feet. He limped, using his free hand to grab onto the bed, and rocky walls of the cave, as he made his way towards the opening.

A small hopeful voice reminded him that the only person who knew one of the many entrances to the alcove was Christine, but his demons reminded him that he was a murderous monster, and that last night was just out of pity, not love.

But at the sight that greeted him, he could not help but smile, he could not keep the hope at bay, he could not keep the happy gleam from slowly creeping into his tortured eyes. For there she was, tying the boat to one of the rocks, before she bent down once more, and grabbed a tray.

He watched, completely entranced by her, as she turned around, softly shaking her head to rid herself of the few strands that had fallen out of the ribbon that held her chocolate curls together. He was still leaning heavily on the wall, and it proved to be a smart move. For the sight of worry in her eyes, the soft smile that tugged at her lips, as she shook her head at him, were all new to him, and he did not know how to respond. Even though he had seen the worry the night before, he was still denying it was genuine. He was still waiting for the moment she woke up from whatever spell she was under, realized her mistakes, and walked away from him for good.

And so, any signs of affection on her part, proved to weaken him in the knees.

"Why are you out of bed?" she asked reprimandingly, one eyebrow arched up, as she placed the tray - which he now noted contained food - onto the piano seat.

He opened his mouth to answer, but did not find one. What was he supposed to tell her?

'I still can't believe you keep coming back to a monster like me!'

And so, he opted for the silent option, and was absolutely content with just looking at her, as she made her way over to him. His already existing lust, increased to mythical proportions when her hand was once again placed onto his. He let her move it away, as she inspected the rag underneath.

"Well, looks like the blood has stopped. But I still need to get a closer look at it," she remarked, her hand still pressed against the wound, "so why don't you head back to bed, and I'll get the tray of food? That way you can eat once I'm done with the wound," she suggested, as she turned him back towards the large swan-bed, without waiting for his answer. But when he was too entranced to move, she pushed him towards the bed, and he obliged. 

He let her lead him back to bed, without even a peep of objection on his end. This entrancement stayed as she cared for the wound, his eyes watching every move she made. Her hands as they moved quickly, the soft frown that formed on her forehead, the way her eyes shone with concern and concentration alike, how soft her skin was against his body. He wanted to speak, say something-anything-to her, but couldn't. What was a monster like him to say to such a sweet soul?

His trance ended when her eyes finally looked up from the wound and met his, "all better," she stated softly, and he smiled at her, or at least he hoped it was a smile.

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

"No need. I do hope you're hungry," she remarked, getting up from the bed to retrieve the food tray.

He watched her every move, still not used to her being there on her own accord; to her caring enough to not only come back in the morning to check on him, but to bring him food as well. He was not used to people showing him kindness, after all, his own mother never did. His own flesh and blood, not only did not show him any form of kindness, but also showed him all kinds of hate. She was the first one to call him a monster, to shy away from him, scream every time he came near her, refused to even hold him, let alone kiss him, or allow him to kiss her.

But then there was Christine, who didn't shy away, who showed him all kinds of kindness, who came back on her own accord after seeing his face. She even apologized for unmasking him without asking for permission first.

He was scared of believing that it was real, but wanted nothing more than to bask in it.

He pulled himself up a bit more, so he was half sitting on the bed, when she returned with the food tray, and even tried to take it from her. Though that gesture did not go very far, since he winced in pain when he reached for the tray.

"Don't stretch your arm, it will pull on the wound," she instructed gently, as she lowered herself carefully onto the bed next to him. She put the tray of food between them, and removed the cloth that served as a cover.

"Bon appetite," she said brightly.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, with the only sound - aside from the soft rippling of the water echoing in the alcove - was the sound of their chewing. Their eyes met a couple of times, which was inevitable since he was still watching her every move. She smiled at him reassuringly, knowing what was going through his head, but did not know a better way to ease his fears than actually being there.

She finally decided to ask a question that had been on her mind since the events of the previous night, "what did you do to Carlotta's voice?" she asked tentatively.

"I switched her perfume to something that will make her throat hoarse," he answered warily, expecting her to scold him, "don't worry, it doesn't last for long," he added before she got a chance to answer.

She shrugged, "shame," she deadpanned, winking playfully at him, which turned into a full-hearted laugh when she saw his jaw drop in shock. "I think I speak on behalf of all of us who work with her when I say that you saved our eardrums," she quipped, earning a disbelieving chuckle from him.

"She does not deserve to be the Prima Donna, you do," he said softly, and she sighed.

"We already talked about this, if the composition is not yours, you can't force me on the managers. And besides, what if they get tired of it, and fire me? What are you going to do then?" she asked, though her tone was far from angry, rather curious.

"They wouldn't dare," he growled threateningly, "Carlotta does not sing, she wails! She may have the lungs to pull off the high notes, but she surely does not have the range of melodies you do, nor does she have the softness," he lectured, "the public needs to see you performing a variety of operas, so they can grow to love you. After all, if it is a show they are after, and money the managers want, then they need to make sure the public knows you well enough to buy tickets in your honor," he added, his tone softening a bit.

She sighed once more, before finally abandoning her food, and moving closer to him. The now too familiar lust tingled throughout his body, when she took his hand between hers, "I know you're doing all of this for me, and I really do appreciate it. But you cannot keep thinking they wouldn't dare fire me, because I assure you they would. It is not just the managers any more, Raoul has a say as well…" her speech was interrupted, by the growl that sounded in his throat, and she saw his face clench in anger.

"So this is about hurting that fop's feelings?" he hissed through gritted teeth, instinctively pulling his hand away from hers.

She took a second to debate whether she should bite his head off or not, but decided that the calm approach was the best way to deal with him when he's like this.

"I do not care about Raoul's feelings, but he is a pampered rich Vicomte who is not used to being told no, or having someone dictate what he can, and cannot do. So what you need to understand is, if you keep daring him, he will keep me on the sidelines, just to make sure that we all understand who's in charge. Right now, Carlotta is the goldmine not me, and he will not make the transition unless he is absolutely sure that I am worth it," she said calmly, holding his eyes steady.

Her words had soothed him a bit, especially when she said she did not care about the fool's feelings, but her last sentence enraged him. His eyes narrowed dangerously, the now too familiar darkness slowly creeping into them.

"You  _are_  worth it, Christine, and so much more. And if that insolent blonde cannot see that, then he is an even bigger imbecile than I thought," he almost growled.

She smiled shyly at him, before she removed the tray, and placed it on the floor. She shifted closer to him, so their faces were a few inches apart, and cupped his exposed cheek, "I know you believe that, but I am afraid not everybody else agrees. You give me too much value," she soothed.

The fact that she believed those words to be true was what pissed him off, the fact that she wasn't just saying those words for his sake, the fact that they weren't a way to soothe his anger. He silently vowed to bite Madame Giry's head off, if she was the one who made her believe those foolish words.

"I am not giving you nearly what you deserve," he said sincerely.

* * *

Christine stood on the roof, staring out at the horizon. It had been a rough couple of weeks, physically exhausting. Her days consisted of rehearsals, caring for the still healing Phantom…..and dodging Raoul.

He had become a bit of nuisance, always trying to 'court' her, always trying to buy her lavish gifts, trying to woo her. She had tried hinting that she was not interested, but it seemed he needed to be hit on the head to get it.

She wrapped the heavy blanket tighter around her body, shuddering when some of the cold seeped through the fabric, and straight to her bones. She sighed a bit in frustration, when she recalled her last visit down to the alcove. It had been about three weeks since the Bouquet incident, she went down every day to tend to the wound and makes sure he ate something, and she still saw the surprise in his eyes. But today was different, today, the mask fell,  _literally_.

_She had walked into the alcove early that morning, and found him still asleep. She had never found him asleep before, he was always awake by the time she made it down. But this time, not only was he asleep, but his face was completely exposed. Moreover, he was sleeping on his side, with the distorted flesh facing her._

_She quietly lowered herself onto the bed next to him, and looked closely at him. He looked peaceful in his sleep, though she doubted that it was anything but. He was quite handsome, even with the deformed side showing, he was still more handsome than most men. For the striking features of the healthy side, compensated for any deformities he may have. The deep blue color of his eyes, the vast array of emotions she always saw in them; his rugged jawline; his lips….his body, his touch…._

_She had no doubt that if the other half had formed properly, he would have been a very handsome man. She was well aware of his temper, as well as reputation, but she could not blame him for the way he was. After all, why would he show the world kindness, when it did not show him any form of affection whatsoever, only hate and rejection?_

_But even then, even after all the resentment the world had shown him, he still longed to be accepted, longed to be loved, longed to be a part of a world that was far more distorted than his face. And most importantly, even though he was never shown any form of kindness, let alone love, he was capable of more love than most people were. He loved deeply, cherished the moments he had with those he loved. Probably because he never expected them to last, probably because he was always waiting for them to end, always waiting for the moment when he's once again left alone._

_She did not know how long she stayed there, watching him sleep, before his eyes finally fluttered open, and met hers. She smiled softly at him, happy to see serenity, and genuine happiness slowly creeping into his tortured eyes._

_Of course they only lasted till he felt the air on his deformed cheek, and his foggy mind was lucid enough to realize that she was looking at him without his mask. So, in one swift motion, he'd bolted upright, his hand flying to his deformed cheek, in a futile attempt to cover it, till he located the missing mask._

_Christine, however, was faster than he was, and her hand caught his midway to his face. He tried to pull his arm away, but she refused to allow him to take it. She saw his other hand move towards his cheek, and decided to beat him to the punch. She used her free hand to cup his face, taking the deformed cheek into the palm of her hand. The gesture made him freeze, his mind unable to comprehend what she just did. She did not hide it, she did not cover it up, she did not cover her own eyes, nor scream in fear. No, she cupped it gently, and moved her thumb over it gently in an attempt to sooth him._

_Her reassuring brown eyes held his pained blue ones steady, his arm still trying to pull away from her grasp, only for it to get tighter, as his attempts weakened with each pull._

_"Look at me," she ordered firmly, her tone authoritative, but not intimidating, "look into my eyes," she said once more, "do you see any fear?" she asked, "feel my heart, did it quicken in fear?" she questioned once more, placing the hand she had in her grasp over her heart._

_She watched as his tortured eyes snapped to where his hand lay, before they shot up to meet hers again. His breathing had gone ragged and shallow, his lips slightly apart, both in shock, and as an attempt to get more in air._

_"It's alright," she soothed, her thumb now moving slightly over the bumpy skin, "you don't have to hide from me," she whispered softly._

_He could not believe what was happening; not only did she see his face, but she was caressing it with her incredible, soft hands. She did not shy away from him, he did not see a hint of fear in her eyes, not a shred of disgust, nothing. Only love and assurance._

_No one had ever showed him such kindness, most people screamed in fear at the sight of his deformation, or laughed at him for looking like 'the devil's child'; most people never even spared him a second glance, not wanting to lay eyes on such a hideous sight again; most people never even dared to touch him, let alone caress his cheek in such a loving way._

_Something in him broke at the gesture, and he found himself leaning forward, the hand that had gone limp in her lap a few moments ago, slowly moved to wrap itself around her waist, the other one already pulling her body into his. His brain did not register his actions, till he felt her hair on his face. His arms wrapped even tighter around her, as he nuzzled her neck when he felt her arms wrap around him as well._

_"Christine," he choked out, almost in disbelief._

_"Yes."_

_One simple word, but it carried so much more. She was holding him, and allowing him to hold her. She assured him of her existence when he doubted it, and her voice was just the soothing remedy he needed._

_She moved her hand to rest on his head, tangling her fingers in his hair in the process, which was when she felt it. The slight shift beneath her fingers, the almost imperceptible pull. And when his arms tightened even further around her waist, as his breath became even shallower, she knew her suspicions were true._

_This was not his real hair, this was a wig._

_It only took her a few seconds of debate to decide not to remove it; she did not want to exploit his vulnerability. He didn't stop her…didn't warn her…only held on tighter in a silent plea for her not to hurt him._

_They stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other, till her eyes landed on the open pocket watch, and realized she was going to be late._

_"I have to head back," she stated gently, "the managers are coming," she said as a means of explanation, when his arms tightened even further around her waist._

_This managed to make him pull back from_  her, " _they want to discuss a few things, and I can't be late," she added softly, and he nodded at her._

_"The tray of food is on the piano bench, I will be back with lunch later," she said softly._

The meeting proved to be a waste of time, the managers had gone on and on about rules, proper behavior, and some other nonsense about safety procedures. She knew it was because of the Bouquet incident; the police had ruled it an accident a couple of weeks ago, and told the managers that if he had had any family, they would've had to pay a large sum of money as compensation. And so the managers like to come by once a week, to remind everyone how to stay safe, to spare them trouble of having to pay them any form of compensation.

She was glad the next day was their day off, as she was in desperate need for rest. Her daily visits to the alcove proved to be draining, she there pretty late, and returned early the next morning. And so, she was contemplating spending the night there, so she can have some proper rest. She knew she can get the rest she needed in her own bed, but also knew he would take it to mean she was staying away because she saw his face.

"There you are."

The voice came from behind her, and she closed her eyes in annoyance, and released a sigh of frustration. For the person said voice belonged to, was the last person she wanted to see at the moment. She wanted a moment of peace and quiet, before she headed down to the alcove for the night. She did  _not_  want to deal with the Vicomte.

She turned around, plastering a forced smile onto her lips as she did, "hello Raoul," she greeted in a clipped tone.

"You, my dear, have been a very hard person to find," he reprimanded lightly, as he walked to stand beside her near the edge.

"I keep busy," she stated, as she turned around to look at the horizon once more.

"Yes, and it also seems that no one seems to know what you keep busy with," he pointed out coyly.

"I am not a child, Raoul, I don't have to tell an adult of my intentions out of fear that I may get lost," she snapped irritably, "and as long as it does not interfere with my job, it is not any one's business what I do with my free time," she added.

"Well, you are most certainly not a child anymore, but you do still believe in their stories," he retorted, and she closed her eyes once more, as she took a deep breath to try and calm herself before she punched him.

"And what childish stories do I believe in?" she hissed.

"Your father's Angel of Music, the Opera Ghost," he listed.

"I am quite aware that there is no such a thing as an Angel of Music, it is a metaphor. As for the Opera Ghost, whether you chose to believe in him or not is your choice, but that does not make him any less real," she lectured angrily.

"Christine, how can one man do all the things they claim he did?" he questioned.

"Most of those stories are overrated, he is not as much of a monster as everyone makes him to be. He only attacks when someone attacks him, he only defends himself," she defended her Angel.

"And what about what happened to Carlotta's voice?" he snapped.

Christine fought the urge to grin at the memory of the famous soprano's failed performance, she sounded more like a croaking frog than a glorious singer. Or as her Angel had put it one time, 'a fat man burping after eating an entire greasy lamb'.

"She's fine," she said simply.

"She was not fine that day, and it nearly cost us a fortune," he yelled.

"If I recall correctly, the audience wanted an encore performance once I was done," she reminded him darkly.

He sighed in frustration, before he decided to switch tactics, "Christine, I would love nothing more than for you to be our star soprano, but that has to be done gradually, not by forcing you onto the public like that. He is a mad man, and I am worried for your safety. I am worried of what this man might do to you."

This somehow only succeeded in angering her even further, and she whirled around to fix him with a dark, and furious glare. She opened her mouth to bite his head off, when she decided to go with a different approach.

"I thought he didn't exist, how can he be imaginary and dangerous at the same time?" she smirked.

"He is dangerous because he is making you believe in illusions!" he deadpanned, and she nearly growled.

"I told you before," she seethed, "I saw him," she spat.

"You've seen him?" he asked, appalled, and she nodded, "you've looked upon his face?" he sought confirmation, and she once again nodded her head, "his face, that if I was to believe the stories, the devil himself cannot bare to look at, and you still believe him to be a good man?!" it was his turn to yell angrily.

That was the last straw for her, she completely lost it, and threw caution to the wind. If only she knew that this outburst will cost her dearly.

"Yes, I have seen him…..and I can never forget that sight….the sight of a face so distorted, so deformed it was hardly a face," she fumed, "yet in his eyes," her tone softened, as she remembered the haunted eyes she looked into that morning, "yet in his eyes….all the sadness of the world….." she added softly, "those gleaming eyes….that both threaten and adore," she finished.

Raoul could not believe what he was hearing….was she really in love with him?

"No more talk of darkness," he instructed gently, "forget these wide eyes fears," he continued, and she glared at him once more.

"They are  _not_  fears, nor are they illusions," she interrupted angrily.

"Christine," he called a bit impatiently, "let me take you away from all of this," he suggested, and she quirked up an eyebrow in question.

"Marry me, Christine," he said, and her jaw fell open.

"I beg your pardon?" she stuttered.

"Say you'll love me every waking moment, say the words and I will follow you," he lamented.

* * *

That was the last straw for him, he could not listen to them anymore. He whipped around angrily, and headed back for the secret door. He had gone to the roof after Christine to surprise her, he had been able to move a bit more swiftly now, and he wanted to hold her, and watch the sunset with her. He knew she loved the sight of the sun setting behind the horizon, as it painted the city a lovely shade of red, mixed in with orange. He had allowed himself to get his hopes up, allowed himself to believe that anyone can ever care for him, especially after setting eyes upon his face. The face that was so distorted and deformed, it was hardly a face. Those were her words, her exact words, the ones she used to describe his face, as she wondered how she will ever forget seeing it.

Once the trap door was closed, soft sobs started to escape his lips, "I gave you my music….made your song take wing….and now how you've repaid me….denied me and betrayed me…" he sobbed, "he was bound to love you….when he heard you sing…Christine…" he could barely get the last syllable of her name out of his mouth, before he broke down in heaving sobs.

This was his fault, the heartbreak, the pain, the anguish….they were all his doing. He was the one who allowed himself to hope, allowed himself to fall for her, to want her…..to  _need_  her.

"Say you'll share with me one love…one lifetime…."Raoul's annoying voice reached his ears as he passed beneath the roof, "say you'll share with me each night…..each morning….."

He did not need to hear anymore, and so he stomped away from his spot, and down to his alcove, secretly vowing never to bring anguish down onto himself like that again, vowing to never allow another soul to hurt him like that.

* * *

Christine raced towards the dressing room, various sounds of annoyance and frustration escaping her lips, as her anger radiated off her skin, and echoed in her furious steps. She slammed the door shut behind her once she was inside the room, and nearly broke the key as she spun it in the lock. She made her way over to the mirror, tiptoed to reach the latch which she now knew where it was by heart, her other hand pressed against the mirror to push it once she released the latch. As soon as her delicate fingers managed to control it, she released it, and pushed her entire weight onto the mirror…..but nothing happened. She kept her hand on the latch, and pushed even harder…but still nothing…..the mirror did not budge.

She let go of the latch, and then tried again to release it, only to get the same result. She sighed in frustration, cursing the weather that caused it to jam, before she turned to grab a chair to get a better hold of it.

And that's when she saw it, the one object that made her realize the latch was not jammed, but that  _he_  had locked the only way she knew how to get to him. The one object that told her that she may never see him again.

For on the chair in front of the vanity, sat a red rose with a black satin ribbon tied around its stem. One that was just like the ones he used to give to her before he revealed himself to her. He hadn't given her any since she started going to him in the alcove.

Her chest started to rise and fall rapidly with her uneven breaths, as she walked over and picked up the rose. She did not want to believe that it was there, till it was in her hand, and she felt the spikes poke her delicate fingers. He didn't even cut them away like he always did, she watched as the blood trickled down from her fingers, as her now tear-filled eyes moved back to the mirror.

"Angel," she whispered brokenly, her other hand flying to her mouth, before she fell to her knees, as her soft whimpers turned into heaving sobs.


	7. Masquerade....Have You Missed Me Good Monsieur?

Music sounded everywhere, the whole city was celebrating, and the Opera Poppulaire was no different. People wore their finest clothes, their most expensive jewelry. Their hair done in elaborate does, their masks covering part of their faces as they danced together in perfect harmony.

' _Masquerade….paper faces on parade…..hide your face….so the world will never find you….._ ' they all sang together, and she couldn't help but reflect on the irony of those words.  _He_  hid his face from the world,  _he_  did not wish to ever be found.

' _Can you even dare to look?'_

' _This loathsome gargoyle….who burns in hell….but secretly….yearns for heaven….secretly.'_

She could not keep him out of her mind, for the past two months she had not been able to think of anybody else but him. She had gone back countless times to the mirror, in the hopes he would've unlocked it, only for her hopes to crash. She had even contemplated breaking the mirror, but realized that it will do more harm than good. For people may not be as forgiving as she was of his face, and if they discovered the secret passage behind the mirror, he will never be safe again.

She tried pleading with him, in the Chapel, dressing room, on the roof. Anywhere she could think of, she had pleaded with him to return to her. But alas, her pleas fell on deaf ears.

What made matters worse, was the fact that he even stopped sending the Managers any notes, making her fear that he left the Opera all together. It had scared her to no end, the thought that she will never see him again. But as it seemed she was the only one concerned, for not even Madame Giry cared to wonder where he had gone, or why they haven't heard from him.

She was standing at the edge of the main hall, listening to the crowd as they sang the song that seemed to be written especially for him. He had tried to drown in the light, but ended up swallowed by darkness. He had tried to take his place, only to be shunned to hell. He had tried, and despite all the cruelties, despite his mask and façade of solitude…..he longed to be a part of that world. He longed to be a part of that inhuman race.

' _What a night_

_What a crowd_

_Makes you glad_

_Makes you proud'_

Their voices reached her ears, no one seemed concerned. They were all enjoying the dancing and music, and even participating in it themselves.

' _Of relief_

_Of delight_

_Of elysian peace.'_

They meant  _him…_ they were relieved that he no longer plagued their lives. They were relieved that he was gone, never to return.

' _No more notes_

_No more ghosts_

_He's a health_

_He's a toast.'_

They think he was dead, no….more like _hoped_ he was. 'What a blessed relief,' they called his disappearance. But only if they knew….only if they knew the man behind the mask. But alas, only she did.

Raoul's voice entered uninvited into her thoughts, and when she turned her head, she found him standing right next to her. He was talking about the majesty of the celebration, and how good it will be for the image of the Opera. She was only capable of giving him a curt nod, and a tight smile.

His bright smile, the way his eyes gleamed as he looked at her, they would've swooned any girl, but not her. For she saw what love looked like, and this was not it. Or at least not genuine love, not the kind her Angel had for her. She remembered the love that shone in his eyes as he sang to her, as he held her. How he leaned into her touch, how he closed his eyes to savor it.

But Raoul, he looked at her the same way he looked at the Opera. He viewed her as a possession of his, not as a human being. He was arrogant, believing that his money and charms will get him any woman he wished for. And on most days, he was right. Most girls would kill their own parents to have a guy like Raoul look at them like that. But she did not wish for that love, she longed for the one she felt when she was with _him_ ; the kind that can be heard without saying a word; felt without touching one another.

She forced yet another smile onto her face, when Raoul pulled her onto the dance floor without even asking if she wanted to dance. She shivered when he placed his hand on her waist, and took the other into his. But it wasn't the same as when she touched her Angel.

She hadn't missed how he shivered at her touch, and was grateful when he didn't seem to notice how her own skin tingled. But it wasn't in disgust like now, but desire. The desire for more.

But now, she had no desire for anything more whatsoever, she did not even want to be held by him at all. She knew he wanted her, after all, he took every chance he could get to touch her. A hug in greeting, a kiss goodbye, a comforting gesture….whatever excuse he could come up with.

She allowed him to lead her through the dance, doing her best not to show her distaste, and praying for the moment this will all be over. She hadn't wanted to attend the ball anyways, but he insisted, and she agreed to shut him up. After all, all she had done in the past couple of months was drift through life. From rehearsals, to coaching with the maestro, to taking walks around the Poppulaire, in an attempt to see if she can feel him around her or not.

Their dance was abruptly - and thankfully - interrupted, when a sudden gloom descended upon the crowd. A gloom that she knew all too well.

She looked in the direction everyone was looking, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. But unlike the many other gasps that came from others, hers was not in horror, but rather in surprise.

Her heart raced at the sight of him, clad in red, with a white mask covering his face. She shook Raoul's hand when he tried to pull her behind him. She was not going to hide from him, she was not going to run away. On the contrary, she wanted to run  _to_  him.

He took his time to descend the grand staircase, striking fear with each step he took. People moved away with each step he set closer in their direction.

" _Have you missed me good monsieur?'_

She wanted to scream, to say yes as loud as she could. She wanted to run to him, throw herself into his arms, and never let go again. But her body betrayed her, same for her voice.

He was now giving the managers instructions regarding the new opera he composed, Don Juan Triumphant, he had called it, and it did not require a genius to read between the lines. But his instructions sounded more like insults than anything else, and no one was spared. The managers, Carlotta, and Piangi. Even her…..

He called her a star, but the venom in his voice as he said her name, was only to mask the longing she easily spotted. He had turned his face away from her once more, as he looked around him and into the faces of his audience.

' _If her pride will let her return to me.'_

Pride! Was that what he thought was keeping her away?

' _Her teacher.'_

Teacher! Was that what he wanted to call himself? Did he really want to pretend that she was nothing more than just a student to him?

The answer to all of those questions came when his voice softened the second time he said 'teacher', and when his eyes finally met hers, her heart snapped in half.

His mouth hung open, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, and probably control his erratic heartbeat. She saw the slight quiver in his jaw, the almost imperceptible tremble of his lips.

She walked slowly towards him, her eyes shining with a very small gleam of happiness when she saw him move towards her as well. She looked into his eyes, surrounded by a halo of black. Those beautiful tortured eyes, the ones that held nothing but darkness mere seconds ago, were drowning in longing, pain, and a desperate need to be loved…by her.

She wanted to tell him she did indeed love him, to throw herself at him and wipe away at the tears that were threatening to fall. But she knew it won't help, he won't wait to see what she'll do. He will lash out if she moved suddenly, she had to make him see the love in her eyes first. She had to make him see that she longed to be with him as well, that she did not abandon him, that her pride was not why she was not with him right now.

She was about to open her mouth to say something, when she saw his eyes move down to her chest. All of the emotions she saw mere seconds ago disappeared as his eyes darkened, and flashed with rage. He reached forward, and grabbed the necklace. She cursed under her breath, she had forgotten the wretched thing was there.

She winced when the chain strained against her skin as he tore it from around her neck, and held it up for her to see.

"You belong with me," he sneered, before he whipped around and ran back up the stairs. He stood in the middle of the floor, before a flash of light and a cloud of smoke surrounded him, and he was swallowed by the marble floor. She saw Raoul run down the stairs, and jump in after him.

The frantic 'NO' that left her lips was not for Raoul, as many of the ones around her suspected, but for the Phantom. She was scared of what Raoul might do to him.

She was about to run after them, when she caught sight of Madame Giry rushing in a certain direction, using the commotion as cover. She followed the older woman as she ran through various halls, trying her best to memorize the way. She watched as she pressed an invisible button on the wall next to a painting, and watched in awe as the painting moved. Madame Giry disappeared behind it for mere moments, and came back out with Raoul in tow.

Christine breathed a sigh of relief when she saw his sword to be clean, and he showed no signs of an encounter with the Phantom. They both froze at the sight of her, and before either of them could even think of something to say, she stalked up to them. "I want to know everything you know about him, and don't tell me you know nothing more than we all do, since that is clearly not true," she demanded fiercely, "please," she pleaded a bit more gently, when she saw the hesitation in the older woman's eyes.

"Madame Giry, he is clearly becoming more dangerous, and more bold in his confrontations," Raoul argued, and Christine nearly slapped him for it, but decided against it when she saw that it convinced Madame Giry to tell them what she knew. And so, she wordlessly followed the duo into the room, silently vowing to make Raoul pay for that lovely comment later.

* * *

Her dance with that blonde fop had been the final straw for him. He couldn't bear to see her in his arms, to see his hands touching her. He was a mindless idiot, and he did not deserve her. No….she deserved so much more.

But what pained him even more….was the smile on her face. She looked happy, and didn't seem to mind his hands on her body.

' _She's his fiancé, you idiot! His hands probably have been in much more intimate places,'_  his mind had screamed at him.

And so…he made his entrance. He announced his presence with an all too familiar gloom descending upon the crowd. Various gasps and exclamations of horror echoed around him, but he paid it no attention.

He smirked at their fallen faces, how they cowered away with every step he took. His eyes found her, and he allowed himself a fleeting look. But it was enough to see her shake that fop's hand away.

He wasn't going to let himself fall prey to delusions and false hope. He wasn't going to allow himself to lose his resolve in front of her. No….he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. No matter how painful it was, no matter how much he wanted her….he wasn't going to cave.

And thus, he refused to meet her eyes, he refused to even look at her. He looked at all the horrified expectant faces, and ignored her presence, as well as all the too familiar sensations coursing through his body.

He attacked Carlotta, Piangi, the managers. He put them all in their places, he deflated their egos. But then it was her turn….for she was the star of the Opera he wrote. He had thought of her as he penned each note, as he visualized each dance. But he had to make her believe that she was nothing more to him than just a student.

He looked at her again, he saw her slightly parted mouth, he noted the absence of that rich brat, and saw the way her chest moved with each breath. He could swear he could hear her heartbeat, smell the fear…..no….there was no fear. He couldn't find it, he couldn't find annoyance or anger. All he saw was…. _relief?_  Could it be?

But no….he wasn't going to believe it. It was yet another one of her tricks, she was trying to weaken him. He called her a star, he praised her voice, her capabilities….but then he claimed she had much yet to learn. Which was a complete lie, he had taught her everything she needed, for her talent would've taken care of the rest. All she had to learn was how to master the stage, how to enforce her presence.

He saw the disbelief in her eyes at his words, he saw the pain. And even though it pained him, a part of him relished in it, and even wanted to add to it. But he couldn't, once she started to move towards him, his anger started to fade, his resolve started to weaken, and he took a step of his own in her direction.

They moved towards each other, his mouth hanging open, his chest heaving erratically with his heartbeat, his eyes trying to decipher the look in hers. He wanted to hold her, to touch her, to feel her touch again.

But then his eyes caught a shimmer, and when they traveled down to the source, he finally realized why her eyes showed no signs of fear, why she was trying to trick him. That ring was the one the fop gave her, she had accepted his offer. And so, it all made sense. The fop had left somewhere during his grand stand, and she was trying to buy time till he got ready to attack, and hopefully kill him, riding them all of his evil.

He clenched the ring in his angry fist, and yanked it off her neck, growling that she belonged with him, before he ran back up the stairs and disappeared. He saw the Vicomte jump after him, and heard Christine's voice as she screamed 'no'. Which was why he had decided not to kill the fop, and allow Madame Giry to rescue him. He still didn't have it in him to hurt Christine like that, he still couldn't bear to see her in pain, not at his hands at least.

* * *

Christine's heart was shattering piece by piece as she listened to Madame Giry's story; his own mother had sold him to the circus; they beat him, mocked him, called him names, starved him, and charged people to laugh at him. And when he finally decided to defend himself, he got branded a murderer.

'The devil's child,' was the name they had given him, and it kept bouncing around in her head. They called him a monster, when the devil would shy away from their actions. They called him ruthless, when mercy knew not the way to their hearts. They called him cold-hearted, when she suspected they even had one. They said he had no soul, when they did not even know what it meant to possess one. They called him cruel, when their definition for compassion needed revising.

"But clearly Madame Giry, genius has turned to madness," Raoul argued softly, when Madame Giry called him a genius repeatedly. This finally snapped Christine out of her shocked state, and she remembered her earlier anger towards Raoul. Thankfully though, her desire to get to the Phantom exceeded the need to punch Raoul.

"What's his name?" she asked quietly, and they both turned to look at her. Almost as if they had forgotten she was even there, for she hadn't said a single word throughout the entire story.

She saw Raoul furrow his eyebrows at the tears glistening in her eyes, and Madame Giry looked like she hadn't quite heard her.

"His name?" Raoul repeated in confusion, and she was sure that if a look could kill, he would be dead at the moment.

"Yes, his name. The name that was given to him by the woman who claimed to be his mother, a name that is not 'the devil's child', or 'opera ghost' or whatever else he had been called his entire life," she seethed, and both the older woman and the Vicomte were taken aback by her outburst.

Her eyes were glaring daggers at Raoul the entire time, and they snapped towards Madame Giry when she heard her choked voice whisper a name, "Erik."

Christine merely nodded in response, before she bolted out of the room.

"Christine, wait," Raoul called after her, but she ignored him, and rushed down the long corridor.

She heard him jog after her, and since her dress was preventing her from moving any faster, he easily caught up with her.

"Christine," he breathed in frustration and annoyance alike, as he grabbed her arm, and turned her to face him. The anger and hostility in her eyes surprised him, "where are you going?" he asked, his voice a bit gentler now.

"I need to clear my head," she snapped, "and I prefer to do it alone," she added when she saw him about to suggest he went with her.

"Christine, it is not safe anymore," he argued.

"I'm a grown woman, Raoul, I can take care of myself," she growled through gritted teeth, before she pulled her arm out of his grasp, and headed back down the corridor. She could still hear his footsteps behind her, and she made a swift turn into one of the prop rooms, and hid inside.

She kicked off the uncomfortable shoes she was wearing, before she swiftly moved between the various objects, without knocking any of them, or even making a sound to indicate which direction she went. She heard him bump into a few objects, and by the time he had followed her out of the room, she had disappeared behind one of the other many closed doors, and used one of the many passages that only someone who lived at the Opera knew of to go back to the corridor she had in mind.

She easily found her way back to the painting, and made sure no one was around, before she started to look for the latch Madame Giry found. She had been standing at a distance, so all she got was the side of the wall, not the exact location. She strained her eyes, as her fingertips moved along the frame of the painting. She closed her eyes when she couldn't see it, and decided to focus on touch alone.

After a few long moments of searching, her fingers finally found the almost imperceptible roughness in the wood of the frame itself. She pushed on it, and heard the faint click before the wall moved ever so slightly. She pushed on it a bit more, careful not to elicit any sound from it. She looked around one more time, before she finally slipped inside.

Once she shut the door, a dreary silence and gloom descended upon the room, if you can even call it that. She saw her reflection in the mirror, which was reflected onto another mirror, then another, then another. Everywhere she looked, she saw herself. She had not seen him exit the room with Raoul, and Raoul said the room was empty when he landed in it. So there must be another door that led somewhere else.

She took a deep breath, and used one of her hair pins to mark the mirror that was her exit door. She walked to the mirror in front of her, and eyed it critically, trying to discern the best way to go about this. Should she check them one by one? Should she break them?

Before she could reach a decision, an all too familiar sensation flooded her. Her heart started to race, and her skin crawled from the invisible wave of coldness that suddenly descended upon the room. She knew this feeling, for she only had it in his presence. He was near, he was watching her, waiting for her to make a move, so he could make his. She knew that right now, he was more dangerous than a wounded, caged animal. That if she made a mistake, she will lose her chance forever.

"I remember there was mist," she started singing, "swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake," she continued to sing, as she walked around the room, her hand caressing each mirror, "there were candles all around, and on the lake there was a boat…..and in the boat there was a man," she sang, drawling out the last syllable.

An eerie silence descended upon the room once she finished her plea, she could almost hear the echo of her own heartbeat, as her strained breaths bounced off the cool surfaces of the mirrors.

She was about to head back for the door, when an all too familiar voice stopped her. "Wandering child, so lost, so helpless….yearning for my guidance," he sang sadly.

"Angel or father….friend or phantom….who is it there staring?" she called out pleadingly.

His hurt voice boomed in the hollowness of the room, as he chastised her, "have you forgotten your angel?" he asked.

"Angel, oh speak…what endless longing….echo in this whisper," she pleaded.

"Too long you've wandered in winter….far from my fathering gaze," he reminded her softly, as the faint click of a latch reached her ears. She saw his reflection in the mirrors, and she turned towards him slowly.

"Wildly my mind beats against you...but my soul obeyed," she said softly, as he came into the room. "You denied me…."she reprimanded tearfully, as she made her way towards him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked coldly, and she smiled sadly at him.

"I came to find you. You closed off the only other way I knew how to get to you," she replied, "I tried everything to unlock it, but I couldn't. I even thought of breaking the mirror, but that would've led the entire Opera to you," she continued.

He kept looking at her, trying to discern if she was truthful, or if she had something up her sleeve. He saw nothing but longing, remorse and sympathy in her eyes, but he wouldn't allow himself to believe it. He was too scared to believe her words once more, after all, the last time ended in heartbreak.

He walked towards the mirror that she used to enter, "you must leave, before your Vicomte gets worried," he spat.

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, " _my_  Vicomte?" she stressed the pronoun, as she arched an eyebrow at his back, "he is not mine," she corrected.

He whipped around angrily, "then what do you call this?" he sneered, holding up his fist that was closed tightly around the necklace, with the ring dangling mere inches from her face.

Her eyes moved between his and the ring, clearly not making the connection.

"Did he not ask you to be his  _wife_?" he asked, spitting out the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

She closed her eyes in realization, "you were on the roof," it wasn't a question, it was a statement.

His only reply, was to turn around and head back for the door.

"Erik," she called him desperately, and he froze in his place.

She had used his name, the name that he had not been called in so long, that he nearly forgot he had. But he still remembered how people used to sound when they called him, and it never sounded like this. His name never held so much love, so much longing, so much plea. It was always said in disgust, in anger, in fear.

He did not move, for he could not find the right command to make his legs move. He heard her move closer to him, and only turned when she put her hands on his shoulders, and guided him.

His tortured eyes found her reassuring ones, and she smiled softly at him.

"How did you know my name?" he croaked out, his voice a bit hoarse from the shock.

"Madame Giry," she said softly.

She held his eyes for a few more seconds, before he averted his eyes to look at the necklace still clutched in his fist. He heard her sigh sadly, "It's true that he asked me to be his wife, but I did not say yes," she answered his earlier question.

This caused his head to snap back up, as his wide eyes stared at her in disbelief, "If you had waited a few more minutes, you would've heard me tell him no. You would've heard him beg me to reconsider, and to keep the ring as I make my decision. If you had given me a chance to explain everything, instead of shunning me out, you would've known the truth," she listed tearfully.

"I did not want you to have to look at my deformed and distorted face any longer, I did not want you to feel threatened in any way," he echoed her words from the roof, and she closed her eyes in pain.

"I did not mean them like that. I know they were cruel words, and I am sorry. But I did not mean them like that, I said that your eyes adored, the threat is for those who dare wish you, or anyone you care about, harm. Yes, I said those things about your face, but that was to convince him that you are not a figment of my imagination," she explained desperately, "I came to you after that. I wanted to talk to you, to  _be_  with you," she cried, "but you left me. You shunned me, and wouldn't even let me explain.  _That_  is why I still have the ring, because you were gone. You left me all alone, and I thought that I won't ever see you again. So it seemed to be a rather stupid idea to turn down the marriage proposal when Raoul was the only one left who had my back," she finished tearfully.

"Why?" he growled, "why did you want to come to me? How can you possibly still think I am worthy?" his voice cracked a bit at the end, the tears and emotions becoming too much for him to bear.

"Fear can turn to love," she repeated his words, "you learn to see….to find the man behind the monster," she continued, watching sadly as his mouth opened in shock, as his lips trembled in both fear and surprise alike, "I wanted to come to you to show you that you're not the repulsive carcass who secretly dreams of beauty anymore," she stated.

"How can you claim to see past it when my own mother couldn't? How can you claim that the true distortion lies in a soul, when this face has earned me nothing but fear and loathing? Even my mother, who gave me my first mask, an unfeeling scrap of clothing," he wondered brokenly.

"Is that why you shunned me out? You thought that just because I laid eyes upon your face that I will not want to return again?" she questioned, and he averted his eyes to look at their now intertwined fingers.

"I've seen your face before, and I still came back time and again. Why was this time any different?" she reminded him, "I am not your mother," she added softly, but he refused to look up to meet her eyes.

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, before she once again sang to him. She knew her voice soothed him, "pitiful creature of darkness….what kind of life have you known….God give me courage to show you….you are not alone," with the final note, she used one of her hands to slowly lift his chin, and before he could say anything, she stood on her toes, and captured his lips with hers.

He felt everything and nothing at once; desire, fear, lust, a need to run away….so many emotions that he was not sure what to do. His entire body had gone stiff as a log, and his knuckles turned white as he squeezed her hand. Her lips were soft, tender and loving. They were everything he had ever imagined them to be, and even more. He couldn't believe she was kissing him,  _she_ was the one who initiated it. His own mother wouldn't even look at him, let alone touch or kiss him. But there she was, this beautiful creature, kissing him.

She pulled back slightly, and his eyes opened slowly to look at her. The slight blurriness in his vision made him realize he was crying. He was expecting to see disgust on her face, regret, shame, anything. But all he found was love, love and a desperate plea for him to believe her.

He let go of her hand, and slowly moved it around her waist, his other moving up to cup her face gently, the offending chain and ring falling by their feet. She smiled lovingly at him, and even leaned into his touch. She had one hand resting over his heart, while the other curled around the edge of the mask, but did not remove it.

He saw the silent request in her eyes, and all he did was close his eyes. He felt her pull the mask off his face, but he refused to open his eyes, as his hand fell limply from her face. They flew open in shock when he felt her lips on the deformed skin, a pained and shocked sob escaping his lips, as he turned his head to gape at her. He found her smiling at him, love and adoration shinning in her eyes, as she cupped the deformed cheek.

"Angel of music…hide no longer," she whispered softly, and his only response was the shuddered breath he took.

"Christine," he exclaimed in wonder, almost as if he can't believe that it was really her.

"Erik," she whispered, before she leaned up, and caught his lips with hers once more.

Only this time, he kissed her back. He wrapped his arm around her, one hand now tangling in her curls, the other holding her against his chest, while her arm wrapped around his neck with her hand still cupping the deformed flesh. He kissed her passionately, pouring all of his love into that kiss. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, and she complied. She parted her lips, and allowed him into her mouth.

He had spent long nights trying to imagine what it would feel like to kiss her, to have her kiss him back, to feel her soft touch on the marred skin. But no matter how good he thought it would be, he wasn't even close.


	8. Stranger Than You Dreamt it

Erik could not believe the events of the past couple of hours; not only did Christine come after him, she kissed him!  _She_  was the one who initiated the kiss, and she allowed him to kiss her back. She kissed the marred side of his face, and did not flinch away in disgust. She let him hold her, she did not stop his tongue from discovering every inch of her mouth, she did not stop his hands from roaming her body, she did not cringe in disgust or fear when his lips trailed kissed all over her exposed body. And at last, she did not stop him from claiming her as his.

He had kissed her passionately, pouring all the love he has for her in every touch, every kiss, every thrust. He had drowned in her, allowed her responses to guide him. He loved that he was the one bringing her such pleasure; each time she arched her back, each moan, gasp or strangled scream she released, sent him on a high unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He had never been with a woman before, and he never wanted to be with any other woman but her. He was of course well aware of the concept of prostitutes, and he knew that he could get one anytime he wanted. After all, masked men approach them all the time for the sake of anonymity. So he knew that he could get intimate with a woman whenever he felt like it, but he never wanted it with any other woman but Christine.

And so, he made sure to show her how much she meant to him, how cherished she was, how loved, how valuable. He did not care about his own pleasure, all he cared about was her own. The sight of her eyes rolling to the back of her head from the climactic pleasure she felt, and the way she screamed his name as he pushed her over the edge repeatedly, brought him more pleasure and satisfaction than any experienced prostitute ever could.

Even now, laying on his back, with Christine in his arms, her head resting on his chest, as he trailed his fingers up and down her bare back, with the sheets pulled up around them; he was still scared that it would all turn out to be nothing more than just a wonderful dream. He was terrified that he will soon open his eyes, and find himself back to the harsh existence, and brutal reality.

He tightened his arm around her, as he pressed his lips into her chocolate curls, and took in her scent as he kissed the top of her head. He smiled happily when he heard her sigh contently, as she snuggled more into his embrace.

"I thought you would've fallen asleep by now," he remarked softly.

She lifted her head slowly off his chest, her content - yet worried - brown eyes finding his still terrified ocean-blue ones, and she smiled softly at him, as she cupped his cheek. Her thumb caressed the marred skin softly when she felt him stiffen at her touch; he was still not used to people touching the deformed flesh, and his first instinct was to wait for the disgust.

She saw the worry creep into his eyes, when he saw it in hers, so she decided to try and voice her thoughts, before his dark ones take him too far, and he convinced himself that she regretted her actions, and was trying to find a way to leave him.

"I couldn't sleep," she stated, her voice barely a tad over a whisper.

She saw the panic start to swim in the already terrified orbs, and she quickly bent down a little and caught his lips with hers in a short kiss, her hand still cupping his face. Once she pulled back, she gave him a small smile when she saw assurance slowly inching into his eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked worriedly, and she nodded.

"Can I ask you something?" she whispered.

He brought one hand to cover the hand she had on his cheek, turned his face slightly within it and kissed the inside of her palm, "you know you can ask for the world, and I will gladly give it to you," he stated softly.

She couldn't help but smile adoringly at him, before she finally asked the question that's been on her mind.  "Can we leave?"

He had expected her to say anything - even that she wished to leave him - but he did not expect her to say that.

"Leave?" he repeated in question, and she nodded.

"Leave Paris, go somewhere where no one knows who we are, start over," she explained hastily, almost on the verge of panic.

"You do not wish to be a Prima-Dona?" he wondered.

"No, you know how much I love singing. But I can sing anywhere, and you can compose," she pointed out.

"We do not have to let people know that you are with me, Christine, if that's what's bothering you," he mumbled dejectedly, as he averted her gaze, missing how her eyes widened in horror.

"Erik, look at me," she instructed gently, and waited till his pain-filled eyes slowly lifted to meet her reassuring ones, before she spoke gently, keeping her voice leveled. "This is precisely why I want to leave Paris, because I want everyone to know that I am with you," she said firmly.

Erik couldn't believe his ears, she wanted to leave because she wanted to be with him in public! Now  _that_  he really did not see coming, not even in his wildest dreams. For not even in his dreams did he dare to think he will be able to let the world know that she allows him to be hers.

Christine saw the surprise in his eyes, and it tugged at her heart, "Erik, I do not care what anybody else thinks. I want to be with you, but this won't happen here," she added softly.

"Why not?" he wondered.

"Because Raoul won't allow it," she deadpanned. There really was no way to sugar coat this, so she just decided to come out and say it.

She felt his entire body stiffen at the mention of the young Vicomte's name, and his previously shocked features morphed into anger.

"It is of no business of his," he sneered.

"I know," she soothed, "but he happens to come from one of the richest and most influential families in Paris. If he wants a girl, he gets her. He is not used to  _any_  girl telling him no, let alone some chorus girl," she explained.

"And especially if she said no to him for a monster," he added, and she sighed sadly.

"I do not care what he thinks, you are not a monster. But he will not let it go, and it will end in blood," she said confidently.

He looked into her eyes searchingly, trying to find any signs of deceit, of hesitation, of any ulterior motive whatsoever, but found none. He saw sincerity, love, passion, and a need to protect him for a wrath she knew all too well.

"Christine, he won't hurt you," he assured her, and she shook her head.

"No, Erik, you don't understand. I am not concerned for my safety, but I can assure you he will not let it go. He will never let us be, we won't be able to live peacefully," she pleaded.

"But are you sure you can leave it all behind? I know you consider the people here to be your family," he reminded her.

She could not help but smile at his thoughtfulness, knowing that a part of it was also his fear of her one day waking up and realizing she has made a mistake.

"I'm not saying we will never come here again. Surely I will miss Madame Giry and Meg especially, but I won't be alone; I'll be with the man I love," she stated, and saw his eyes widen in shock.

She chuckled at his dumbfounded expression, "I do love you Erik, I do not just let any man make love to me," she reminded softly.

Erik had sworn a very long time ago that he will never allow anyone to see him vulnerable, to see him weak, to see him cry. But so far, Christine had seen him do all of those. And now, as the tears pooled into his eyes and clouded his vision once more, he could not believe that he was finally hearing those words come out of her mouth.

He leaned up and caught her lips in a passionate kiss, one that soon turned into a lust-filled one. He tightened his arm around her waist, and rolled them both over, so that she was now beneath him, as he continued to kiss her, his hands once more roaming her body.

* * *

If this was a dream, he did not wish to awake from it. If this was reality, he did not want time to move past this moment. He had kissed Christine, and she kissed him back. He had made love to her, repeatedly, and she did not cringe in fear or disgust. On the contrary, her body shivered and arched with pleasure. Pleasure that he was responsible for. And now, her body was pressed against his, warming him on this cold January night, and lulling him into what was probably his first night of peaceful sleep.

His sleep was not infested with nightmares, fretful memories of his so called childhood; his mother screaming and cowering away from him in fear, calling him all sorts of names; the gypsies beating him and starving him; people laughing at him, calling him names, and throwing things at him. Normally, he would wake up sweating and shivering a few times per night; but not tonight. Tonight, his sleep held nothing but beautiful dreams, and hopeful thoughts of a brighter future.

His peaceful sleep was interrupted, when he couldn't feel Christine next to him anymore. He instantly missed her warmth, and as he came to from the sleep fog, he heard the shuffling of feet around the alcove.

He lazily opened his eyes, blinking a few times till they focused on Christine, in time to see her pull a nightgown she had left there before over herself.

"Christine," he croaked, his voice hoarse.

She whipped around, clearly startled, "Erik, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she said softly.

"Are you cold? Do you want me to add more wood to the fire?" he asked groggily, sighing inwardly when she shook her head. He was far too exhausted to actually get up and do anything.

"No, it's alright. Go back to sleep, I won't be long," she soothed, and he furrowed his eyebrows.

"Where are you going?" he inquired.

"Since we decided we will leave, I thought I'd go visit my father's grave before we go," she explained gently, "I was on my way to the dressing room to get a black dress," she added when she noticed how he looked doubtingly at her attire.

"You don't have to," he retorted, "go to the other room, you'll find what you're looking for in the wooden chest by the manikin," he instructed.

Christine was confused as to what he meant, and for a second, thought that it was just the sleep talking, but her curiosity got the best of her, and she left him to go see what he meant.

She found the wooden chest where he said it would be, and with some effort, she managed to open its lid. She gasped softly at the sight that greeted her, as she bent down to pick it up.

"Do you like it?" his voice startled her from behind.

She whipped around, both hands holding the object of their conversation, "it's beautiful. Where did you get this?" she wondered.

"I made it," he amended, "it was supposed to be your birthday gift," he told her.

'Supposed to be'. Those words cut through her like a knife, her birthday was a week ago, and she was heartbroken when she did not find a gift from him. He hadn't missed a single birthday since she came to the opera house, but he had never been this angry with her, he had never been this hurt, especially by her hands.

And now, knowing that he remembered it, that he had worked on the gift for weeks - probably months - added to the significance and magnitude of the gesture. It was a beautiful black dress, with intricate patterns on the lace, and perfectly sown satin.

"Why don't you try it on till I change?" he suggested.

"You don't have to come with me," she objected softly, as she walked over to him.

"I know," he affirmed, as he put his hands on her waist, pulling her a bit closer to him, "I know it's hard on you, I don't want you to be alone," he retorted gently.

She leaned up, and he was more than happy to bend down the rest of the way. They shared a soft, short and passionate kiss, "thank you," she whispered once they broke apart.


	9. The Man Behind The Carcass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short sweet chapter :)

Christine huffed in frustration at her reflection in the mirror, no matter how much she tried, she couldn't get her arms to bend the way she needed them to in order to reach the buttons on the back of the dress. The dress was beautiful, and it hugged each of her curves beautifully - making her wonder how on earth did Erik get her measurements down to a nail - but closing it proved to be next to impossible to do on her own. So after one last frustrated sigh, she turned around and walked out of the room where she was getting dressed, and went in search of her Phantom to ask for his help.

She did not need to look much, for she found him standing in front of one of the many tables lying around, grimacing at his reflection as he fixed the wig on his head. She noted with a sad smile, that this particular table had many mannequin heads with various wigs on them, as well as masks.

She stood there, watching him as he placed the mask over the disfigured side as he has done a million times, she was sure, her mind wandering off to the moment the wig joined their clothes on the floor the night before. It was true she had removed his mask before, but never before did she ever remove his wig. She knew he wore one, she just never took it off.

* * *

_They were lying in bed, completely naked, with only the sheets barely covering their bodies as they moved beneath them. Her back arched off the bed for the tenth time that night, as another wave of pleasure shot through her as Erik continued torturing her core with his mouth. His hands were fondling her hardened nipples, and hers shot down to keep his head between her legs. And in the heat of the moment, she tangled her fingers in his hair…but it moved. The imperceptible shift she felt before, was a bit more evident now because of the force of her grip._

_She felt him stiffen, his hands momentarily freezing over the swell of her breasts. His tongue had stopped running up and down her entrance, so her back was once more pressing against the sheets. She opened her lust filled eyes, and looked down at him. She found a pair of pained, ocean blue eyes looking frightfully at her. And even though she desperately needed him to finish her off, she decided that easing his fears came first. And besides, his mouth wasn't enough any longer, and she needed something else. But first she had to take that haunted, pained look off his face._

_And so, she untangled one hand from his hair, and slid it down to cup his cheek. She gave it a little nudge, and softly guided him back up her body, her reassuring eyes holding his terrified ones steady. Once she could reach him, she lifted her head off the pillow, and caught his lips with hers. She could feel his desperation in their kiss, and she tried to assure him. Once they pulled back for air, she looked once more into his eyes, one hand still cupping his cheek, while her thumb caressed the bumpy skin. She had made it a point to cup the marred side, to assure him that it does not repulse her._

_She saw the tears glistening in his eyes, and she could only smile softly at him, as her other hand pulled the wig away._

_His eyes fluttered closed, his lips shuddering slightly, a lone tear escaping past the closed eyelids, and down the deformed skin, as a soft whimper left his lips, "Christine."_

_She leaned up a bit further, and caught the lone tear with her lips, her heart breaking when she heard the pained, surprised sob that left his._

" _I'm here," she assured him, as she rested her head back onto the pillow, and watched his eyes hesitantly open once more, and look into hers searchingly._

_She smiled at him, leaned up to kiss him once more, before she whispered the two words that she had been dying to say, "Take me."_

_His own strangled sob was swallowed by her, when he crashed his lips onto hers, swallowing the moan that escaped her, her back arching off the bed once more, and her legs wrapping tightly around his waist, as he finally obeyed her request, and entered her._

* * *

"It seems I need to take it in a bit," he said softly, snapping her out of her reverie.

"No, I think it will be perfect as soon as you help me button up the back," she stated, as she turned around and showed him the open buttons, all the way to the small of her back.

She turned around, and couldn't help but chuckle at the mischievous gleam he had in his eyes, "I generally prefer to help you  _unbutton_  your dresses, not the opposite," he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

Her soft chuckles turned into full out laughs, as his hands went around her waist, and slid up her back to her shoulders, which were not covered up by the corset.

"Erik," she chastised playfully, before he silenced her with his lips once more. The kiss was soft, tender and loving. It wasn't a hungry one, like the many they shared the previous night, but rather one where they both savored how the other tasted. She pressed her body up against him, enjoying the deep groan that resonated in his throat, as his skilled hands buttoned the dress.

They pulled apart when he finished the last button, and she moved back slightly to make some final adjustments, though he did not let her break fully out of his hold.

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

"You never have to thank me, Christine," he whispered lovingly, as he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

She eyed him critically; he looked quite handsome in his attire, and the black wig only served to add to his enigma, but she also hated it. She hated it because she knew he did. She knew he viewed the mask and wig as a way to hide from the world - and at one point - even from her. She knew he hated it, because he will never forget that his own mother was the first person to force him to hide.

"Do you have to wear them?" she asked softly, and by the sadness that crept into his eyes, she knew he understood what she meant by 'them'. After all, she did not do a very good job in disguising her distaste for them.

"I never go outside without them, I highly doubt the entire city of Paris will be as forgiving as you are," he said brokenly.

"But it's not even morning yet, I don't think there will be many people around," she argued.

"I only take them off before bed," came his simple retort, shattering her heart with the weight behind it. He even wore them when alone. 

"Well," she started, "you can wear them when we leave the alcove, but never when you are here with me." Her voice was confident, held not even the slightest hint of hesitation, or resentment.

Her answer did surprise him, but he supposed he needed to get used to moving about without it, no matter how foreign the concept may be to him. He nodded slowly at her, before he bent down and rested his forehead onto hers, "anything for you my dear."


	10. Wandering Child

Christine sat silently in front of Erik, the soft movements of the muscles on Caesar's back as he cantered down the road almost lulling her to sleep. She was sitting sideways, with Erik's arm serving as backrest, her head resting on his chest, as he expertly maneuvered Caesar. His arms engulfed her from both sides, providing her with a sense of safety she craved. A safety that she always thought she lost when her father passed, only to find once more when his Angel of Music paid her a visit. A safety that she lost once more when the Phantom pulled his latest disappearing act on her.

She had not been able to sleep at all the previous night, even though Erik had left her utterly exhausted, she still could not bring her brain to shut up and let her sleep. As the weight of the consequences of their action finally set in, she realized that it was going to be an uphill battle from now on. A battle led mainly by her once childhood friend, and maybe even childish crush, Raoul.

She watched as the trees went by, listened to the sounds of Caesar's hooves as it hit the concrete, the crushing of leaves beneath them, and watched the white smoke leave her mouth with each frustrated sigh. Her mind drifted back to the events of the previous night; the masquerade, Erik's interruption, the pain she saw in his eyes, the story she heard from Madame Giry, their conversation in that room with the mirrors, and last but certainly not least, the passionate night they spent together.

She was so lost in thought, that she did not realize that they had stopped at the cemetery gates. She felt the soft tingling of the muscles stop beneath her, but did not quite sober up, till she heard the soft voice call her name gently, "Christine?"

She slowly lifted her head from his chest, and looked up at him, smiling softly at the worried look in his eyes, "yes?"

"Are you alright?" he asked, his gloved hand running up and down her arm, and she nodded. "We're here," he said, when it seemed that she won't be saying much.

He watched her head turn around slowly, almost hesitantly, to look at the mausoleum standing tall in the distance. He saw her eyes sadden as she looked at it, how her chest heaved slightly with pained breaths, as well as the almost imperceptible shiver that ran through her body. He let go of Caesar's reigns, and wrapped his arm around her waist, his other hand still rubbing her arm up and down comfortingly. He rested his head against hers when she leaned back into his embrace, and allowed her head to fall onto his chest, as a shuddered breath escaped her lips.

"We don't have to leave if you don't want to," he soothed, kissing the side of her head softly.

She shook her head adamantly, "if we were to ever have a peaceful life, then we must leave. We cannot keep living in the past, we have to think of the future. My father will always be a part of me, and I will always hold him dear in my heart. But I need to do this, I need to lay the past to rest," she said tearfully, and he kissed her softly on the head once more.

Erik wasn't entirely sure that she was only talking about her father, after all, her fondness for Raoul stemmed from the fact that he reminded her of happier times with her father. And her initial affection for him stemmed from the fact that she thought him to be the Angel of Music her father had promised to send to look after her. He knew that she needed to finally let her father go. But would she also let got of her affections as well? Would he be laid to rest in the past as well?

With one final comforting squeeze, he dismounted Caesar, and reached up to help her down as well.

"Just lean forward slightly, and hold on to my shoulders," he instructed gently, and she did just that. He slid his hand around her waist, and easily hoisted her off the saddle, and gently lowered her to the snowy ground.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, "no, I have to do this on my own."

He nodded in understanding, but did not let her go without one final kiss. He cupped her chin gently, lifted her head, and lowered his lips onto hers. It lasted a few seconds, and it held nothing but love and comfort. And with one final squeeze to her arm, she took the bouquet of red flowers from Caesar's saddle bag, and made her way to the gate.

He watched her take brisk steps in the snow, her soft singing voice sailing through the cold air, the melancholy tune adding to the gloom of the cemetery, and the sadness her steps held almost melted the snow beneath her feet. The words broke his heart, detailing how much her father meant to her, how deeply his death affected her, how she still wanted him with her. The childish dreams she had of him, how she missed hearing his voice, the pain in her voice as she confessed to knowing she never will. The hint of pride that crept into her voice as she told him that holding him close helped her achieve all of her dreams, how that pride faded and her voice saddened once more as she spoke of the cold and monumental surroundings, how they don't seem befitting of her warm and gentle father.

Once she reached halfway through the pathway, he started to follow her. She may need to be alone as she lays him to rest, but he was not going to let her be alone on the way back. He knew she will need him, and he will always be there whenever she did.

The anger in her voice as she wondered why the past can't just be laid to rest surprised him, for he knew that it wasn't real anger, but rather one mixed with sadness and frustration. But all her voice portrayed was the anger. 

She started to climb the stairs to the tomb, stating her wish of seeing him once more, despite the knowledge that she must say goodbye to him, to her past. She asked him to forgive her, to help her and provide her with strength. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, and watched her as she adamantly declared that she will no longer shed any tears for the past, nor will she hold onto the memories. He saw her lean heavily on the tomb, after she finally put the flowers on its lid, before she asked for his help to say her goodbye.

He watched sadly as her shoulders slumped under the weight of the sadness she had been carrying for years, and after one last gaze, she caressed the metal plaque bearing his name, before she finally turned away from the marble monument; turned away from the past. She smiled when she found him standing at the bottom of the stairs, both letting her know he was there for her, as well as letting her have her space and time with her father.

She walked out of the mausoleum, and closed the brass doors behind her, whispering one final goodbye, before she turned around for the last time, and slowly made her way down the stairs. She was grateful when she saw him climbing the stairs to meet her halfway, and nearly collapsed in his arms. She buried her head in his neck, and curled up against his broad chest, taking fistfuls of his blazer, as his strong arms wrapped protectively around her much smaller frame. His head rested comfortingly on top of hers, as he rubbed circles up and down her back to soothe her.

He heard her sigh heavily into his chest, and he longed to take her pain away. He lifted his head when he felt her pull back, but she only lifted her head off his chest and did not break out of his arms. He looked down at her, gazing lovingly into her eyes, trying to decipher what she felt, as he brought one gloved hand to brush away some curls that had fallen astray from the black ribbon she used to hold her hair back.

Finally, she smiled softly at him, "thank you," she said sincerely.

"I told you before, you never have to thank me for anything," he reminded her softly, and her only response was to lean up and capture his lips with hers.

"NO! CHRISTINE!"

The almost primal bellowing of her name, made them spring apart, and Erik immediately turned around, his sword already drawn from its sheath. She was grateful that he did not listen to her when she told him it wasn't needed, for now she saw their intruder's face.

Raoul.

Christine's eyes widened when she saw the young Vicomte racing towards them, his own sword drawn. Erik still had his sword in his hand, and he stood protectively in front of her, his teeth bare in a nasty snarl, and his chest heaving with angry breaths, his eyes - despite not seeing them - were probably blazing with murderous fire. Christine briefly wondered how Raoul knew where they were, but she guessed that he may have seen them leaving the Opera. And regardless of the way, he was here now, and the confrontation she was hoping to avoid was about to unfold before her very eyes. And like she warned Erik, it was going to end in blood.

"Raoul?!" she finally found her voice, and his name was the only coherent thing she could say.

"What are you doing here?" Erik growled, and that served to halt Raoul.

He stood a couple of feet away from the stairs, looking at the two of them; how Christine had her hand on Erik's shoulder, and how Erik had one arm stretched protectively in front of her. Christine saw a fleeting moment of hesitation, a fleeting moment of sanity when a voice within him decided that this was wrong, and that he should let them be. But it was gone as soon as it had come, and the jealous rage replaced it, swimming in the blaze of pride. After all, how could  _any_  girl, let alone a chorus one, jilt  _him_? How can she possible say no to  _him_? Choose any one but _him_?

He wanted to charge at Erik, battle him and hopefully end his life once and for all, so he can finally have his Christine, and live the life he envisioned. But he knew that it might be a lost cause, Madame Giry had told him of the Opera Ghost's infamous sword skills, and his impeccable precision. And Christine…..she was standing behind him. She wasn't afraid of him, she wasn't trying to get away. On the contrary, she had her hand on his shoulder, and seemed to be the only reason why the Phantom hadn't charged at him yet.

He knew he had to get her away from him, and so an idea finally sprang to his mind. He had to break his spell on her. After all, what woman in her right mind would choose this disfigured monster over him? No, she had to be under some kind of sorcery. If he grew up with gypsies, then he probably knows his way around dark sorcery.

"Christine," he started, his voice pleading, the contempt and anger barely held back, "whatever you believe, this man, this  _thing_ ," he spit out the last word, enjoying how despite his best efforts not to seem affected by the word, the great and feared Opera Ghost flinched. But since he was focused on Erik's reaction, he missed Christine's venomous look, and how her eyes narrowed dangerously. "He is not your father," he added dramatically, expecting a shocked gasp to leave Christine's lips, or a flow of defenses from the monster. He was taken aback by the lack of both, Erik was still glaring daggers at him, his stance that of a dragon about to breathe fire. And Christine was shaking her head, as a humorless chuckle escaped her clenched jaw.

' _He's not my father! Oh, I sure hope so!'_  she couldn't help but think. After all, if he was, then the previous night was rather a large mistake!

"I know he's not Raoul, and he is not a  _thing_ ," she shot back, her voice dangerously low, her lips parted slightly in a dangerous snarl.

Raoul had to admit he did not see that coming, she knew! She knew who he was and she was still with him?! This only proved his theory about dark sorcery, and that she cannot possibly be thinking straight.

"No, Christine, you don't understand. You don't know what he is!" he exclaimed in frustration, and that was the last straw for her. She moved from behind Erik, and was about to descend the stairs to confront him, when Erik stopped her. She didn't turn around, she didn't need to look at his face to know that he was scared for her, and she decided to honor his wishes. Even though it seemed to only further Raoul's resolve that she should be taken away from him immediately.

"He is a man! A man who had an unfortunate life, because no one cared to look beyond his face - which he had no hand in creating - and tormented him his entire life. He is a man, who despite all the cruelties the world has shown him, is capable of more passion and love than ten men like you are. A man, who had been called the Devil's Child because of his face, when the Devil himself would be ashamed to do the things the world did to him," she seethed, delighting in the shocked expression on Raoul's face, which soon turned into indignity, pride and rage.

"He has you under some form of a spell, and I swear to you I will break it," he vowed angrily, and before she could respond, he leapt towards her, and she found herself falling back onto the steps.

When Erik saw Raoul charging for Christine, he lost it. In one swift motion, he pulled her behind him, and jumped in front of her, barely in time to block Raoul's oncoming attack.

Christine looked in horror as they both fenced with great skill, as well as great anger. She was terrified, not for herself - for she knew Erik would never allow anything to happen to her - but for him. Erik may be a master in sword fighting, but so was Raoul. He was showing great skill, and was still standing on his feet. Her heart jumped into her throat when Erik lost his footing, fell and Raoul was able to kick his sword away from him. She saw Raoul's hand raised to plunge the sword into Erik, and she screamed, "NO!"

She was glad when Raoul stopped, and half turned his head to look at her in confusion. She had to say something, she had to think of something to say that will stop him from killing Erik.

"Not like this," she pleaded, gasping in relief when Raoul put the sword away.

She looked at an angry, yet shocked, Erik. She begged him to stay down, she couldn't even see where his sword had gone, and she would die if something happened to him.

She was jolted out of her thoughts, when Raoul tugged at her hand, "let's go, Christine!" he ordered. Something in his tone of voice made her go with him, for she knew he was far too dangerous, and she had no idea how he would react if she said no. She looked pleadingly at Erik, begging him with her eyes to understand that she was only going with this fool to save him; that it didn't mean she will leave him, or that she didn't love him. But at the pained look he had in his eyes, and the agony she saw itched in his face, she knew he did not understand.


	11. Wishing You Were Somehow Near

Christine once more found herself on a horse's back, cradled between the arms of a man, watching the tress go by. But unlike the first time - less than an hour ago - she did not want to be there. Not only was the horse running at a speed that scared her; nor was it the fact that the movements of the muscles beneath her sent shivers coursing through her body instead of lulling her to sleep; but rather the fact that the arms that cradled her this time were unwanted. For they belonged not to the man she loved, but rather one who wished to keep her from him.

Raoul was urging the horse to speed up, one hand on the reigns, the other wrapped tightly around her, his fingers digging into her flesh, that she was sure she will bruise later. He had the look of a mad man, a mad man who saw nothing but his needs. One whom she could never reason with, not that she had any intention to.

She nearly flew off the stead when Raoul brought it to an abrupt stop in front of the Opera House, his hooves grinding against the slippery concrete. Raoul jumped off the stead, and hoisted her off the saddle. A pained shriek left her lips at the force of his grip around her waist, nothing like the gentle touch of her Angel. She was a bit taken aback by the force with which he planted her on the ground, but recovered quickly and shouldered past him. But before she could set two steps in the direction of the corridor she used a mere hour ago with her Angel, Raoul grabbed her arm forcibly, and pulled her back towards him.

"And where do you think you're going?" he almost hissed, and this time, she did not bite back the sneer.

"I am going to find Erik, and fix the damage you've done," she said through gritted teeth.

"Christine, I just managed to get you away from him, barely if I may add, and you want to go running back!" he exclaimed in disbelief.

"No one asked you to, I didn't  _want_  to be taken away. I just managed to convince him that I won't leave him, that I won't run away just because I saw his face, and  _you_  just erased all that." She seethed.

"Well, good! Because whatever spell he has you under, we have to break its hold on you!" he argued, effectively getting on her last nerve.

"I am not under any spell, Raoul. On the contrary, I am very well aware of my actions," she bellowed, before she yanked her arm from him, and headed for the corridor once more.

"If you refuse to come back with me willingly, then I will rally the workers and come find you myself," he threatened, and she froze. If Raoul was to follow through with his threat, then the mob will definitely kill Erik! They won't show any mercy, and that blonde fop may very well convince them that Erik killed Bouquet out of spite, not self-defense.

She turned around to face him, her mouth agape in shock, her eyes searching his for any signs he was bluffing, her horror increasing when she found none.

When she didn't say anything, Raoul assumed that she was finally getting her senses back, so he walked over to her.

"Christine, I promise you, that I will protect you from him, and you will see, one day, very soon, that I was right," he said calmly, giving her what most women would call a dashing smile, but to her, it was only serving to piss her off.

* * *

Christine stood by the candles, her eyes staring unseen at the flickering flames as they danced in their place. She had managed to dodge Raoul for an hour earlier that day, which was more than enough time for her to go back to the mirror and try to get to the alcove. But just like she feared, Erik had it sealed, same for the hall of mirrors, as well as the entry way they used that morning. She knew he will have such an adverse reaction, but was hoping that he had enough faith in her to know she didn't want to be with Raoul, and that the previous night was not some form of a trap. But she realized with a heavy heart, that he'd had many years of bad memories, and only one night of good ones.

She lifted her eyes from the candles, and looked at the wall behind them. This was where he first spoke to her, back when she was just a child, back when she thought he was the Angel her father had sent. And as it turned out, she wasn't all that mistaken. After all, he did look out for her, and inspired her voice. He was the one she owed everything to.

She sighed in frustration for what seemed to be the millionth time, "Erik!" she called apprehensively, holding her breath for any sign that he was listening. "Erik, please, you can't do this again. You can't disappear, he won't let it go, and I won't let it go. I love you, I want to be with you. You have to let me in, you have to open one of the doors so we can escape. He'll use me as bait to get to you, please don't let him. Don't let him do this to me, to you, to us," she pleaded desperately, "he'll take me, he'll take me and I won't ever see you again, and the mere thought frightens me. Please, you have to put an end to this." She finished tearfully.

Her eyes fell shut, as she focused all her energy on her ears, listening for any sound, any distant noise that gave her hope he was listening, she was praying for that shiver to run through her body at this moment, letting her know he was there. But none of it came, she did not feel him, nor did she hear a sound.

Her eyes flew open when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she whipped around, her heart beating in joy at the prospect of seeing her Angel once more. Her bright smile fell, her hopes crushed when she found herself staring at a perfectly sculptured face.

"It's all going to be fine, my dear," he soothed, misinterpreting the fear in her eyes, "I will not let him harm you again," he added, as she once again turned around to face the candles, and most importantly, away from him.

"What I once dreamed, I now dread," she confessed, knowing he will take it to mean she was afraid of Erik, and not him. But she was hoping that if Erik were listening, he would understand her words, and realize how truly frightened she was. She had listened in horror to Raoul as he plotted how he was going to rid Paris of the Devil's Child once and for all, and how he made it clear that if anyone dared stand in his way, he will not tolerate it, and he will be viewed as the Phantom's accomplice and treated accordingly.

"You said yourself, he was nothing but a man," he reminded her, "yet while he lives, he will haunt us till we're dead," he added, his tone intimidating, almost as if he was trying to scare her, "we have to do this, and you know that, right?"

She huffed irritably, before she turned away from the wall, and headed for the tinted glass window, "twisted every way, what answer can I give?" she wondered aloud, as she sat on the brick sill by the window, "Am I to risk my life to win a chance to live?" she added questioningly, "I know I can't refuse, and yet I wish I could," she confessed dreadfully, "Oh God, if I agree, what horrors wait for me?"

Her voice was desperate, desperate for a salvation she knew she may never receive if she went through with this plan, pleading for a way out, one only  _he_  could provide, and begging for a chance to live her life without fear or worry.

Raoul had pulled her into his arms, in what he thought was a comforting embrace, but all it did was remind her how much she craved his embrace before, and how much she loathed it now. All it did was prove to her beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the only man she ever wanted was Erik.

* * *

The two weeks' time that Raoul had set for rehearsals flew by quickly, and the night of the big opening was finally here. Raoul could not be more pleased with himself, and his plan. He had contacted the police, and they had men all over the grand hall, waiting for Raoul's signal to take down the beast parading amongst them. The police of course was more than happy to help the young Vicomte, after all, one bad word from him, and the entire station would be looking for jobs elsewhere.

And Christine...well, she could not dread this day any more. Never in her life had she been so scared, never in her life did she dread the moment she walks on stage. She knew without a doubt that Erik will ignore all of her pleas and join her on the stage. That he won't resist the urge for one last show, one last time with her. That he won't stand down from a fight, won't back out of a challenge like a coward.

She was staring at her reflection in the mirror, her fingers tangled in her hair as she pulled her locks to the side, securing it with a rose. The outfit was quite scandalous, and it was like nothing she had ever worn before, even her makeup was provocative. Little did they know that she doesn't need all of that to get Erik onto the stage, for he had already seen everything there was to see about her.

She finally managed to secure the rose to her hair, just in time for her curtain call. She made her way to the stage door, just as Carlotta finished her last line. She took the stage, her heart beating erratically, her chest heaving as she struggled to take her breath before her first line.

She took the stage, delivered her line beautifully, before she busied herself with the flowers in the basket, for it was the only thing she could do to stop the fear and anticipation from showing in on her face. She was waiting for that chill, that imperceptible shiver, the way her heart rate quickened around him.

There was a long moment of silence, one where she could swear even the audience held their breath in anticipation, one where she was afraid that the entire city of Paris could hear the sound of heart beating.

And then, she felt him. She felt his presence before she heard his voice, and just like she thought, her heart started beating erratically, though she made sure it did not show. She did not want to Raoul to think she was frightened of Erik, and make his move too soon. She was still trying to think of a way to get Erik off the stage. She was glad when she felt him move, if he wasn't staying still, the Police can't shoot.

He started singing, and the words were quite ironic considering the situation they have found themselves in.

"In pursuit of that wish which till now….has been silent," he sang seductively, and she had to bite back a snort. Especially when she looked at him, her mouth slightly agape, and watched him put a finger to his lips, as he repeated the word 'silent'.

' _I don't recall being so silent!'_  she couldn't help but think to herself.

"In your mind you've already succumbed to me," he continued, and this time she couldn't stop herself from arching an eyebrow.

' _And in your bed as well!'_  she nearly yelled, wondering who the hell was he thinking about when he wrote these words. But that was when it dawned on her, this opera, those words, they _wer_ _e_ meant for her, only he wrote them at a time when he thought she was lost to him for good.

"Now you are here with me," he reminded her, and she wanted to scream,  _'Yes, I am!'_

"No second thoughts….you've decided…."he nearly whispered now, and she wanted to cry. She never had any second thoughts, she wanted him and only him. He was the one who had a knack for misinterpreting things. She looked back at him, just as he swung his cape, her mouth still open, as she prayed he will see the sincerity in her eyes. She decided to stand, to face him completely, as she desperately thought of a way out of this predicament.

His voice was intoxicating, the way he sang, the underlying messages hidden within the words, the pain only she could detect, the hurt at the betrayal which didn't even exist. All of that sent her on a high, a high which she only knew when she was with him. And when his arm surrounded her, as his hand cradled her neck, it took all the strength in the world not to moan. His mouth was buried in her hair, and she could feel his hot breath on her exposed neck.

"What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies…before us?" he wondered, as he let go of her waist, and slid his hands down to hold onto hers, and she gaped at him in shock.

If those words were meant for her, then he really knew how to entice a woman. She couldn't help but reflect on how different those words would have been, if he had written this Opera after she had gone to him. After all, she did do everything he claimed she will do once she fell for his trap.

He finally let go of her hand, as the anger slightly crept into his voice, as he sang his last line, "what more unspoken secrets will we learn?" and she knew that it was a swing at her. Even now, those were the only words that were truly meant for her.

She took her hand back, and walked away from him, as she finally realized what she can do to warn him about the presence of the Police.

She shook her head slightly as she started to sing, her eyes wandering off to the blonde man in box five along with his companion, but not before she made sure that Erik was watching her every move, knowing that he will follow her line of sight and spot the policeman. They both saw Raoul look to the man to his right, and said man made a subtle move.

None of that stopped her singing, on the contrary, she made sure she sang her part perfectly, for it actually told her side of the story. And when she finally looked back at him, she knew he saw the Policemen, and knew of Raoul's intentions. She only hoped that he will now follow her lead.

She nodded her head subtly, as she claimed that she deiced, her eyes holding his steady, and begging him to believe her, to trust her. But his eyes left hers, and the pain she saw in them broke her heart, and nearly made her run to him then and there. But she knew that the only way she could keep him safe, was to get him somewhere where the police can't shoot. She started to move towards the stairs, her voice holding more confidence than she felt. Her heart nearly dancing in joy when she saw him move with her, maybe he did understand her silent pleas after all.

She took her time ascending the stairs, her voice showing more confidence when she saw him match her pace. She stopped midway, held his gaze once more as she wondered how long they had to wait, and also buying herself some time to think of what she will do once they reach the top. They will have nowhere else to go, and he will become an easy target.

But then it dawned on her. Not only how to get him to leave the stage, but also how to get him to take her with him. And at the same time, confuse Raoul and his gang of policemen, and buy them both some time, for she knew she had a lot of explaining to do.

She started to climb the stairs once more, stopping at the top, allowing him to discard his cape, before they sang the duet line in perfect harmony, each taking a step towards the other, till they met in the middle. He put his hands on her waist, and she put hers on his. And if it wasn't for the seriousness of the situation, she would've smiled in joy at the sensation coursing through her body at his touch. A sensation which multiplied when he grabbed her hand, spun her around, and wrapped his arms around her once more. This was safety, this was where she wanted to be, from now and till death do them apart.

He used her own hands to caress her body, and she wanted to scream at him, slowly tracing them up her body till they reached her neck, at which point he used his own hand.

She lost herself in his embrace, as they both waited for the music to end. She felt him trace both hands up to her face, and refused to open her eyes. She felt him take a breath, and knew he was about to start singing again, but she did not expect him to sing  _that_  of all things.

"Lead me, save me from my solitude," he pleaded brokenly, and she reached up to take his hand, her eyes still closed, a small serene smile gracing her lips.

"Say you'll want me with you here, beside you," he begged, and her eyes flew open. He didn't understand her message, he hadn't been listening to her in the Church, he still thought she was going to leave him. Her heart skipped a beat when her eyes landed on the policeman standing at the end of the beam, his gun at the ready, and she knew she had to move quickly.

She allowed him to turn her to face him, and her heart broke at the sight of him. The pain, anguish, desperate need to be loved were no longer hidden beneath layers and layers of fear and intimidation, but rather as obvious as the blazing sun.

He held her hand between both of his, his eyes begging her, as his voice cracked slightly. She shook her head helplessly, as she begged him to understand why she had to do what she was about to. And just as he put his hand on her shoulder, her hand found his face, and she cradled it lovingly, her lips quivering slightly at the prospect of the pain she was about to cause him. But just as she was about to doubt herself, she heard a sound that she heard whenever she passed by a policeman. He was readying his weapon, he was about to take a shot.

And so, in one swift motion, before Erik could even realize what was about to happen, she pulled the mask over his head, taking the wig along with it as well.

And there it was, the look that was going to haunt her for a very long time; the look of pure pain and agony, a look of utmost betrayal, a look of a loss.

She heard the crowd screaming at the sight of his face, and she pleaded with him to see the remorse in her eyes, and try to understand why she did what she did. She saw him look around like a lost child, his eyes finding the policemen that were hurrying in their direction. And then she saw it again, the anger, the intimidation, and the need to survive.

He grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her towards him, the strength of his hold hurting her for the first time, but she didn't mind. He pulled a knife from his pants, and cut a rope with it, causing the chandelier to shake a bit, and the crowd's screams got even louder, before he kicked at a latch by his feet. A trap door opened beneath them, and she found herself sailing down with him, and straight through the floors below, until they hit concrete grounds.


	12. Track That Murderer

"Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair…down we plunge to the prison of my mind….down that path into darkness deep as hell," he sang melancholy, yelling the last word loudly.

His hold on her hand was ironclad as he dragged her through the dark corridors, his anger, pain, despair, and sense of betrayal were all palpable. She tried to stop him, or even slow him down long enough for her to explain why she did what she did. But he refused to allow her to say a word. His words cut through her heart, and she knew she will never fully forgive herself for what she had just done.

The shaking of the chandelier had bought them some extra time, since all the workers rushed to secure it before it fell down on the heads of a terrified crowd, and the commotion amongst the crowd slowed the police down slightly. But she knew that Raoul will go straight to Madame Giry, and convince her to help him, and the old woman will, since she didn't know that Christine had gone to Erik willingly, nor did she know she was exactly where she wanted right now.

He finally stopped, pulled her a bit closer to him, and got in her face, "why you ask was I bound and chained in this cold and dismal place?" he sneered, his anger masking his betrayal and hurt very well. "Not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of my apparent face!" he yelled, before she got a chance to respond.

She opened her mouth to assure him, to calm him down, but he turned around once more, and continued on their quest down to his lair, dragging her along with him at a speed she was barely able to keep up with.

"Erik," she called him desperately, but if he heard her, he did not show it. "Erik, please," she pleaded once more, only for him to downright ignore her call, though his hand did loosen around hers a bit. But before she could sigh in relief at the release of pressure, he turned around, and she found herself staring into the eyes of a wounded child. His hands now moved to her shoulders, as he pinned her against the cold stone.

"Hounded down by everyone….met with hatred everywhere….no kind words from anyone….no compassion anywhere," he listed brokenly, "Christine," and there it was, all the pain and confusion poured out into her name, "why?!" he wondered weakly, "why?!" he yelled it a bit more forcefully now, though his grip on her shoulders wasn't as tight any more, and she realized that he was starting to lose his will to fight.

This was her chance, this was the moment that will define how the rest of their lives turned out. It was all up to her now, she had to handle this properly, or she was going to lose him forever.

She had no time to lose, and she knew exactly what she had to do. She grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt, pulled him towards her, as she stood on her toes, and caught his lips with hers, swallowing the strangled sob that left him. His hands remained on her shoulders at first, as he weakly tried to push her away, but she refused to move. Her tongue ran along his lower lip, begging for entry, one which he denied her. She knew he was trying to resist, fight away all the desperation and love he had for her - a natural response she knew - but she wasn't going to let him. She had to show him how sincere she was, she had to prove to him she still loved him so he would believe her when she said she only did this to protect him, not to humiliate him. She needed him to believe her when she said that she never wanted to be with Raoul, and that the only man she ever wanted, and ever will want was him.

She slid one hand away from the lapel, and moved it to cup the marred side of his face, effectively breaking through his last line of defense. A broken sob escaped him once more, as he finally allowed her entry into his mouth, and she coaxed his tongue into her own, her other arm now moving to wrap around his neck, as his hands slid from her shoulders, wrapped around her small frame tightly –and desperately- while one hand moved up her back, and cradled the back of her head, as his fingers tangled in her curls. He kissed her back, passionately and desperately, silently pleading with her not to leave him once more, pouring all of the love he had for her in one kiss, as he begged her not to break his heart again.

They finally pulled apart, both in dire need for air, but she did not break away from his embrace. She rested her forehead against his own, both their labored breaths mingling together, as both chests heaved in an attempt to get more air into their lungs. His tears were cascading down his cheeks, as her thumb caressed the deformed flesh, and wiped away at them. His lips quivered in defeat, while her own quivered with regret.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she appealed desperately.

"Christine?" his voice was weak, exhausted, broken, and she knew he was finally too worn out to fight. The unsaid question broke her heart, for she knew that he was begging her to explain why she betrayed him like that once more, only on a much larger scale. He was desperate to know why she hurt him like that, after she had assured him many times before that she never will. He was pleading with her to take the pain that she caused away, along with the pain from all those years of suffering.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know what else to do. There was a policeman backstage, and he was going to fire at you. I had to get you off the stage, and I didn't see any other choice. I kept you moving while we sang, and got you up the stairs, thinking we'll be safe up there. I thought that once we're there, that I can warn you, but there was one up there too. I tried to warn you before, but once again, you sealed off all the ways I knew how to get to the alcove. I pleaded with you countless times to open them, but you refused," she defended her actions, pleading with him to believe her.

"I did not wish to cause you any more distress, I know the sight of such distortion is quite unpleasant," he said brokenly, the usual venom completely gone.

She closed her eyes in pain when she heard him repeat her description of his face, she regretted saying those words more than she regretted unmasking him. She pulled back all the way, but he kept his arms around her.  "You want to know what I meant by that?" she asked, "I meant the haunted look that never leaves your eyes; the surprise at the sight of me every single time I came back to you; the fear itched in your eyes whenever I move to touch you; the pain that you try to conceal with venom and anger; the way your face twitched and flinched at every gesture I made; and the anticipation for me to leave you! That's what I meant by distortions, I meant the scars left behind by the cruelties you witnessed." She finished breathlessly, as she looked him in the eye. She saw how he desperately wanted to believe her, but was afraid to. She knew that all of his survival instincts were telling him to run, that he should get out before he could get hurt once more. But she wanted him to stay. She wanted him to stay with her, so she can try and take some of his pain away. She saw the doubt clouding his eyes, he still didn't believe her, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Erik, we made love!" she exclaimed desperately, "if you think that this was also part of some grand scheme I planned to trap you, then I really am nothing more than just a lying Delilah, a viper!" she repeated his words to her when she unmasked him the first time.

A surprised gasp left his lips at her words, and he gaped at her, his eyes widely searching hers for any sign of deceit, but all he found was the love he always saw in her eyes, but refused to believe in. But unlike always, there was another emotion swirling in her eyes, and despite his need to believe it was pity, it was regret…remorse.

"I love you," she declared, "and I am so sorry for what I did, but I didn't know what else to do," she pleaded.

Silence descended upon the two of them, only the faint sound of rippling water could be heard. They held each other's gazes intently, Christine desperately trying to convince Erik that she was sincere, as he wildly searched for any signs of deceit. They were still in each other's arms, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, their chests rising and falling in perfect harmony. And if one listened very closely, you may even hear the echo of their erratic heartbeats.

Christine wasn't sure how to decipher the look he had in his eyes; the doubt was still there, the pain, the anguish, the sense of betrayal. But if she was to believe her eyes, hope was starting to creep through as well.

He slowly lifted his hand, apprehensively moving it towards her face, before he lightly caressed her cheeks with his fingertips, as he slowly moved to cup her face. "Christine," he whimpered dejectedly.

She smiled reassuringly at him, a lone tear escaping from the corner of her eye, when she finally saw he was starting to believe her, "Erik!" was the only thing she could say.

A strangled sob escaped him, before he leaned down and caught her lips with his in a passionate kiss. They pulled apart when they both couldn't breathe any more, and Christine immediately buried her head in his broad shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair, and she couldn't help but chuckle lightly, which turned into a genuinely joyous laugh when she pulled back and looked at him. Seeing the love once more in his eyes, warmed her heart and finally gave her some hope that she may be able to reason with him.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know what else to do. That day I was able to get away from him for some time, but I checked all the ways I knew how to get to the alcove, and they were locked. I prayed that you won't take the bait and join me on stage, but you did. The mere thought of losing you scared me to no end, I had to do something," she explained hastily, her fists balling up around his shirt, as she moved to hug him once more. 

He pulled back from the embrace, but did not let her break free from his arms. He kept one arm around her waist, while the other one pushed away a few curls that escaped, "I thought…."he trailed off, not entirely sure how to finish that sentence.

"I know, I know," she soothed.

Before either of them were able to say another word, a loud noise surprised them, followed by the distant echoes of footsteps.

'Track that murderer…he must be found!'

Christine's heart skipped a beat, and nearly stopped from the fear. Her hands reflexively tightened around Erik's shirt, before she looked at him, her unsaid question quite evident. 'How did they get down here?'

"Madame Giry must've helped them," Erik remarked, and Christine's mouth fell open in shock.

"Why would she do that?" she asked in disbelief.

"She thinks I kidnapped you, that I finally lost my mind," he replied bitterly, albeit brokenly.

' _But clearly Madame Giry, genius has turned to madness.'_  Raoul's voice echoed in her head.

"I'm going to kill him," she muttered under her breath, but judging by how Erik's head snapped in her direction, he had heard her, but did not get a chance to think of something to say.

"You have to get out of here, I'll hold them back," she instructed frantically.

"Christine," he breathed in disbelief, and she knew what he had in mind.

"Don't worry, I won't go back with Raoul, we can meet somewhere in the city…."her frantic rant was cut off by Erik's hands cupping her face.

"I won't leave you behind to deal with an angry mob, we will face them together, or we leave together," he said adamantly.

"No, Erik…"she tried to plead with him, but an angry voice put a halt to their argument.

"Step away from her, you monster!"

Both Christine and Erik's heads whipped around at the same time, and they found Raoul standing under the portcullis, surrounded by half a dozen police officers.

"Raoul," she growled, as she moved to stand slightly in front of Erik. She knew the police wouldn't fire with her standing in harm's way, and she hadn't missed how Erik turned away from the coming mob to cover his face. She wasn't going to let them hurt him, she caused him enough pain as it was.

"Miss Daee, are you alright?" one of the officers, seemingly the highest rank, questioned, his gun raised pointedly towards Erik, but his face showing the confusion he was desperately trying to hide. After all, why wasn't Erik grabbing her and using her as a human shield by now? Shouldn't he be threatening to hurt her if they don't back down?

"Yes, I am perfectly fine, Monsieur. And I can assure you those guns are not needed," she answered confidently, her hand finding Erik's and squeezing it comfortingly, as well as a silent request for trust.

"You will be, Christine, as soon as I get you away from him," Raoul exclaimed, as he moved towards the stairs.

"You stay where you are!" she seethed, her index finger held up threateningly.

"Christine!" Raoul exclaimed in surprise, but she ignored him, as she turned her attention to the very confused policeman.

"Monsieur, I'm afraid you have been misinformed! Those guns are not needed, and I am not in any form of danger," she said a bit more calmly now, "Monsieur….."She stopped, finally realizing that she didn't know his last name, and she doubted that even he did. She looked at him in question, and the look in his eyes proved her suspicions were true; he did not know his own last name. "He is not a threat," she finally found her voice, albeit a bit sadder now.

"Mademoiselle, we saw him kidnap you!" the officer exclaimed in horror, and disbelief alike.

"And it is not the first time that he has taken her, and kept her here against her will," Raoul chimed in smugly before Christine could say anything.

"I can assure you, good Monsieurs, that I am not kidnapped, nor have I ever been! Whenever I was here, I always came on my own free will," she snapped.

"But he  _took_  you!" the officer stated once more, emphasizing how she came to be here.

"No, he  _held_ me to him," she corrected, "I did not show any signs of distress, nor did I even call for help!" she pointed out. "I am not even showing any right now," she added.

The police officers were at a loss, they didn't know what to do, for it seemed that no one was kidnapped, and that their so called 'monster' was anything but. Madame Giry and Meg were both standing behind the men, watching the scene unfold closely.

"She could not have come here on her own accord, she has been with me the entire time, and I did not let her go anywhere unaccompanied," Raoul yelled, in a last ditch effort to convince the officers to take Erik away.

Christine smirked triumphantly, one eyebrow arching up in victory, "so it seems that _you_  were the one holding me against my will, Monsieur La Vicomte, and not Erik," she taunted smugly.

Raoul's mouth fell open, and she had to suppress a chuckle at Meg's sharp intake of breath. She was sure that her friend thought she had lost her mind, but no one knew these two men like she did. One man in particular, never knew any form of kindness, and was always betrayed by those who were meant to protect him. Even Madame Giry herself turned on him. Although she did have to admit that the older woman did not have all the facts. She hadn't missed how he hissed angrily at the way Raoul treated her, nor did she miss the way he moved closer to her, completely forgetting about his exposed face, and only thinking of her.

The officer turned around to look at Raoul, waiting for his explanation, "Monsieur?" he said questioningly.

"I was keeping you safe!" Raoul growled defensively.

"Yet, I was in no danger at all! And I told you repeatedly to let me go, and not once did you comply. While on the other hand, I haven't asked him once to let me go!" she argued angrily.

Raoul was speechless, not quite sure how to respond to any of that.

"Mademoiselle, what would you like us to do?" the officer asked at last.

"I would like you all to leave us alone. We will gather our things, and leave in the morning. You can even tell Monsieur Andre, and Monsieur Firmin they never have to worry about any more letters," she listed calmly.

The head officer nodded his head affirmingly, before he turned around and signaled for his men to head back. The mob of course followed the instructions of the police, and the only people who remained glued to their spots, were Madame Giry, Meg, and Raoul.

Madame Giry looked remorseful, guilt shinning in her eyes as she looked at an exhausted looking Erik. She knew it wasn't really physical exhaustion, but rather an emotional one; he had no more energy left in him to fight, and Christine was the only thing keeping him going at the moment. Meg was looking at Christine like she lost her mind, same for Raoul.

"Erik, I…"Madame Giry was at a loss for words, what was she supposed to say to him. She couldn't find the right words to express her remorse, nor could she think of a good reason as to why she betrayed him.

"It's alright, I know you were doing what you thought was best. I hold part of the blame, I never told you the truth about how I felt," Christine explained softly, as she moved towards her surrogate mother.

"You will leave the Opera?" Meg exclaimed in disbelief.

"Yes, I will leave the Opera, and Paris," she replied gently, "I have to start a new life, one that isn't clouded by predetermined misjudgments," she elaborated gently, before she moved to hug her friend.

After the two girls pulled apart, Christine walked backwards towards Erik, who moved forward a bit and met her halfway. And they both watched as the two women moved closer to Raoul.

"Goodbye Raoul," Christine exclaimed softly, trying her best to keep the venom out of her voice.

The two women gently turned Raoul around, and followed the rest. But as they turned him around, Raoul's arm brushed against something that he possessed, something that he had put in his inside pocket that morning, and forgot about it, something that would give him back his dignity.

Christine turned around towards a still slightly shocked looking Erik, and smiled reassuringly.

"Christine," he said in disbelief, and she chuckled softly. "I choose you, Erik," she assured him, before she leaned up and caught his lips with hers, silencing the surprised gasp that left him.

The tender moment was interrupted by a loud noise, one that was accompanied by a scream from Meg, and a strangled cry from Christine, as the searing pain from her back overwhelmed her.

Erik didn't want to believe his ears, nor his eyes, this could not be happening. He tightened his arms around Christine when her legs betrayed her, before he slowly lifted his head to look behind her. His eyes landed on a stunned Raoul, staring in disbelief at the fallen body of Christine, his gun drawn, with smoke coming out of the barrel. Erik knew without a doubt that the bullet was meant for him, but somehow hit Christine by mistake instead.

He vaguely heard the voices of the police officers as they rushed back, but they were nothing more than distant echoes to him.

"Erik," her faint voice snapped him out of his shock, and he gently lowered them both to the ground, his hand now pressing against the wound.

"Christine," he whispered, his lips quivering like a leaf caught in a January storm.

Christine opened her mouth to talk, but it hurt. So she shakily raised her hand, and once again cupped the marred side of his face, "I love you," her voice was barely audible, and shaky.

"No, no. Stay with me, please," he pleaded, "don't leave me," he begged her brokenly.

She smiled sadly at him, a lone tear rolling down the side of her face, "I love you," she repeated, before everything went black, and her hand fell limply from his face.


	13. Past The Point Of No Return

_Christine's body was limp in his hands, the blood gushing out of the wound, seeping through his fingers, as he desperately tried to stop it. Her eyes had closed, and her breaths were becoming more and more faint, and shallow. Until her chest stopped moving altogether. He faintly heard Madame Giry's voice float through the million thoughts in his head, saw her hand swimming into view as she tried to take Christine away from him. He held onto her, refused to let her go. How could he? How could he let go of the one person who ever showed him kindness without any hint of sympathy? The one person who loved him? Who never cowered away from his touch? Never looked at him with anything but absolute adoration? Who never flinched at the sight of his face? The one he made love to…..how were they expecting him to just let her go?_

_"Erik, it's too late. She's gone!_ "

Erik bolted upright in bed, his chest covered with a thin layer of sweat, his mouth open wide in an attempt to catch his breath. The echo of the bullet still ringing in his ear, the smell of blood still filling his nostrils, the weight of Christine's limp body still weighing on his hands, her faint voice as she whispered the three words that he spent nights dreaming of hearing from her echoing in the silence of the room. 'I love you'.

He looked to his left, his eyes landing on the empty bed. According to his pocket watch, it wasn't even eight in the morning. Yet the sheets felt cold to the touch. He bolted out of bed, with nothing but his bottoms. Even though it was not warm enough for such light clothing, but he had to calm his nerves.

The aroma of fresh baked bread filled his nostrils, as he rushed down the corridor towards one room in particular. He ignored the barely ready nursery, the bare room that was meant to be the sitting room. He grabbed the doorframe and swung himself into the kitchen, praying he would find solace in what he saw, that the beautiful aromas won't turn out to be a beautiful dream.

He sighed in relief, his erratic heartbeat finally starting to slow, as he leaned his head onto the doorframe and watched the beautiful sight before him.

Christine moved swiftly around the kitchen, quickly making works of the pans and pots on the stove, no doubt preparing what smells like a delicious breakfast. She wore a cotton nightgown, which hugged each of her curves beautifully, and he had no doubt that the heat from the fire kept her warm as well. He walked quietly into the kitchen, his cat-like footsteps going unnoticed by a softly humming Christine. He wrapped his arms around her waist, mindful of her injuries, and earning a surprised yelp from her, which soon turned into a soft chuckle as she turned around in his arms.

"When are you going to stop moving around like a cat?" she quipped lightly, playfully slapping him on the chest.

Her laugh was muffled by his lips when he crashed them against hers, but the kiss wasn't tender, it wasn't one of greeting. It was desperate, it was needy, and she knew it all too well. His arms had wrapped around her body, pressing her flush against him. She allowed him to kiss her, allowed him to get all the comfort he needed. She brought both her hands up, one hand cupping his face, the other cradling the back of his head. She knew it comforted him when she held him like this, she was the only person who didn't shy away from his deformity, and it calmed him down when she held the distorted flesh.

He pulled apart, but only enough to breathe, as he rested his forehead against hers.

"Christine," he rasped out breathlessly.

Her only response was to lean up and wrap her arms around his neck. "What happened?" she mumbled into his shoulder.

"The echo still rings in my ears, the smell of blood…." He trailed off, images of that horrible night flashing before his eyes.

She pulled back from the hug, but he refused to open his screwed shut eyes. She knew he was still not completely over what happened, and she couldn't blame him. But she didn't know he still dreamt about it.

"The Police called for a doctor, and because Meg had pushed his hand, the bullet didn't go that deep into my flesh. He was able to get it out of me, and told me to take it easy until the flesh healed. We waited in Paris for six weeks before we finally left and came here. You have barely let me move since we arrived, and even though it hurts when I move suddenly still, I am no longer in danger. The flesh has healed, and I can move as much as I want without risking that it might tear open once more," she soothed him. And it was the truth.

Madame Giry had told her that Raoul claimed  the bullet was meant for Erik, but Meg had seen him and tried to push his hand away, which was why the bullet hit her instead. But as it turned out, it was a good thing Meg pushed Raoul's hand, because it weakened the aim, and the bullet hit one of the rocks before hitting Christine, which took away from its power. The bullet, as a result, did not go deep into Christine's body, and the doctor retrieved it easily. She had remained unconscious for two whole days, which the doctor claimed was normal because of the amount of blood she lost. And according to both Madame Giry and Meg, Erik never left her side, not even for a second. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he didn't even blink. He just sat by her bedside, held her hand, and repeatedly begged her to return to him.

"I keep hearing Madame Giry's voice telling me that it's too late," he told her dejectedly, and she sighed sadly.

"He didn't kill me." She reminded him softly, and he sighed.

"You never told me you still dreamt about it," she chastised softly. "Because I only get them when you're not sleeping next to me, and that hasn't happened since Paris," he argued weakly, still shaken up by the dream.

"Well, I felt better this morning, and you were still asleep, so I thought I'd cook us some breakfast," she said.

"You don't have to do that, we can….." his objection was cut short by her, "Erik, we can't keep eating outside. The doctor said I can move freely since before we left Paris. That's  _how_  we were able to leave Paris, so I don't think that cooking is going to put me in any danger," she argued softly.

His eyes kept searching hers for the assurance he so desperately needed, before she finally saw hope slowly creep back into it. Not hope that she will be alright, for he already knew that she was no longer in any danger. But rather hope that for once in his life, things will go the way he wanted them to. That he will finally get a chance to live at peace, without fear of rejection.

"Then what do you say about a walk around town after breakfast? The house still needs many things." He suggested, and she smiled.

* * *

It was a beautiful day in the small town, the people were amicable, and smiled in greeting at the new couple. It had surprised Erik when no one cared to ask why he wore the mask, and later had overheard people talking about how they think it was an old fire injury. They had been very welcoming to the young couple, and were thrilled to find out that Erik composed music. They told him that he can teach the youngsters, and even work through correspondence. Erik was a bit hesitant about the thought of working with children, but Christine told him that children were far more forgiving than adults, and that they didn't seem wary of him on the streets, so it was unlikely that they will be when he was teaching them.

'You just have to reign in that temper of yours,' she teased. 'And besides, it'll be good practice." She quipped.

He'd decided to give it some thought, and since he had accumulated a small fortune from his time at the Opera, work was not an immediate necessity.

They walked hand in hand, as they looked through the displays of the shops, discussing what they saw, and possible purchases.

Christine was talking about a table set that they had seen that she liked; Erik thought that it was too small, but Christine thought it was perfect. Erik, never the man to deny her requests, paid half the required price and told the owner that he would pay the rest upon receiving the set. The owner told him that all he had to do was inform him when he was heading back home, and the table will soon follow.

Erik was walking next to Christine, listening to her excited rant about the house, and how she envisioned it would look like. And Erik….well….he was merely reveling in the normalcy of it all. Never in his life had he experienced such peace, such normalcy, such serenity. Even though he had been in town for a couple of months, it still baffled him when people just greeted him warmly, without cringing, or eyeing the mask curiously. He was smiling back in greeting at people, his hold on Christine's hand was not as tight as it used to be. It had gotten gradually looser with time, as he became more accustomed to the environment and slowly let down his guard. His heightened senses were still as sharp as ever, but he was starting to realize that they may not be needed anymore.

His eyes scanned the crowd around him casually, the carefree laughter of a child caught his attention, and he looked to his left. He saw a young father, tickling the young boy mercilessly, the latter throwing his head back as he laughed, as he tried uselessly to stop his father's torture. Erik couldn't help but smile at the sight; the boy's red cheeks, the scrunched eyes and nose, and the absolute adoration on the father's face.

He shook his head, as he chuckled lightly, before he looked ahead once more, instantly wishing he hadn't. He froze in his steps, stopping abruptly, his breath hitching in his throat, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest at the sight before him.

Christine was still talking about what they need for the house, when Erik suddenly stopped, and his hand went chokingly tight around her own. She looked at him, and found absolute horror on his face. His mouth was slightly open, his widened eyes staring ahead of him at what she can only assume to be the devil himself! She felt him shake slightly next to her, as his breath grew shallower by the second. She followed his line of sight and saw an old woman approaching them, her own eyes fixated on the two of them, especially Erik. She had piercing hazel eyes, intense, scrutinizing, almost as if she was trying to bore through your soul. Her white hair was pulled back by pins, and the wrinkled skin of her face, only added to the grave look she had on her face.

"Erik?" Christine called softly, and whipped her head around when she heard the older woman snort.

"Erik?" she repeated patronizingly, "is that the name you have taken for yourself?" she taunted, one eyebrow arched.

Christine felt a shiver run down her spine at the mean look in the woman's eyes. Most old people had a kind look in their eyes, this warm demeanor. But not this woman, she was cold, stoic, a rigid face with a mean glare in those hazel eyes.

"Taken for himself?" Christine repeated, baffled by the woman's odd behavior, and the absolute horror on Erik's face.

"Oh dear," she snickered mockingly, "did you think that  _I_ was the one who gave him that name?" she sneered devilishly, and Christine gasped.

"You're his mother!" It was a statement, one that did not need verification. Her voice was barely a tad over a whisper, the surprise clogging her throat, as her eyes now traveled to the once terrifying man, who was now barely standing up. She saw the tears glistening in his eyes, the terror, how tight his jaws were clenched, and the almost imperceptible quiver of his lower lip.

"Well, I do apologize for the confusion, I know that we look nothing alike," she taunted coldly, and Christine's eyebrows arched up in surprise, which soon turned to anger.

"Tell me,  _Erik_ ," she drawled out his name, the mocking tone not lost on Christine, who was starting to really get pissed off at this woman. "Do the people here know what's underneath that mask?" she asked tauntingly, clearly enjoying the look of absolute horror on his face.

She reached up, since Erik was towering over her, but his terror had completely paralyzed him, that he could not stop her, even though he knew what her intention was. He closed his eyes, waiting for the moment she rips the mask away, and the soon to follow screams of horror from the people around them. But that moment never came, he felt a violent move from next to him, and a shocked gasp escape his mother's – if you can even call her that – lips.

He opened his eyes, and the scene before him surprised him. His mother – the cold-hearted woman who never showed him compassion, nor seemed to be the kind to be shocked easily – was staring in absolute shock at Christine, who had a vice grip on her hand.

"Don't. You. Dare. Come. Anywhere. Near. Him." Christine sneered, enunciating every word carefully, her grip on the woman's wrist tightening with each word.

"You're defending him?" the older woman growled, "Have you seen what's underneath that mask? The other side of his face? If you can even call it that?" she listed, taking a sickening joy in the horror on her son's face.

"Yes, I have. But I've also seen what's inside his heart, which is more than can be said for you, for I'm not even sure you possess one." Christine retorted, enjoying the shock on the woman's face, and the irritation that was starting to cloud her eyes. Christine was sure that the woman was not used to being challenged, least of all by someone defending Erik.

"There's nothing but evil within his soul," she seethed, "he's the devil's child!" she screamed, and Christine's heart broke at the faint whimper that left Erik's lips.

Christine bore her teeth in a devilish smile, the sneer on her face a far cry from the sweet, tamed and good-natured ballerina. "Well," she arched an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on her lips, "I guess that makes you the Devil himself then," she tantalized, enunciating each syllable slowly, drawling out the name she had just called the woman.

The surprised gasp that left both the woman's and Erik's lips brought such satisfaction to Christine that her smirk turned into an almost predatory grin. The woman took a step back in surprise, and stared at Christine. Christine stood firmly in front of Erik, refusing to let go of the woman's wrist, and fixing her with a cold, hard glare. It was quite shocking to Erik that Christine had such a side to her.

The older woman was quite surprised, never in her life had anyone stood their grounds like that in front of her, least of all, for the curse she had gotten inflicted with to call a son. She had been quite satisfied with herself when she gave him to the circus, they had paid good money to have the 'Devil's Child' with them, and the man had called it the deal of his life. Even he knew that the deformed boy would bring him a lot of money. And now, not only was this woman claiming that her son was good, but that  _she_  was the Devil. She claimed to have seen what's underneath the mask, and yet, there she was standing in front of the woman, defending him, and enjoying herself a great deal at the irritated look on the woman's face.

Christine watched the shock on the woman's face, enjoyed every twitch of irritation she saw, relished in the angry breaths she released. But then, it was Christine's turn to be surprised. The woman opened her mouth to say something, when suddenly her jaw fell open in shock as she stared at Christine. It confused Christine, the woman didn't seem enraged anymore, just downright shocked.

It wasn't until the woman pointed with her free hand to Christine's midsection, did the young brunette finally realize what stumped her.

"You're carrying his child?" the woman whispered in shock, and Christine's smirk grew even wider. She could practically feel Erik trembling behind her, and his labored breaths on the back of her neck, and it fueled her anger.

The smirk on the young soprano's face was all the answer the older woman needed, and the fact that Christine didn't even flinch at the question provoked her even more, and it also added to her amazement.

"Evil Spawn!" she growled through gritted teeth.

What happened next not only surprised the older woman, but also Erik himself, and it would continue to amaze him for years to come. His surprised gasp was mixed with the older woman's pained yelp, as the sharp sound of flesh on flesh resonated through the marketplace as Christine's palm contacted with the older woman's cheek in a forceful slap.

"If anyone is evil, it's you. If anyone is vile, it's you. The devil himself would be ashamed of what you did." Christine seethed angrily, as she moved closer to the woman who had slipped from her grasp when she slapped her. "Leave! Leave this town, leave us alone, and don't ever think of coming back. Or this entire town will know  _exactly_  what you did!" she threatened.

The woman stood, holding her cheek, staring in shock at the boldness of the younger woman, and quite taken aback by the fire in her chocolate eyes. Her eyes move slowly to the man standing behind the woman, who had now moved closer to her, and put both his hands on her shoulders. She was surprised, when instead of flinching in disgust at his touch, it actually calmed her down. The fire and anger were still there, but she no longer looked like an angry predator about to prance on its prey.

The staring match continued for a few more seconds, Christine waiting for the older woman to decide what her next move was.

"Is everything alright?" a pleasant, yet slightly cautious voice, interrupted the apparent silent fight the two women were having.

All eyes turned to the plump, moustached man who stood next to Christine, eyeing the older woman curiously.

"Yes," Erik's deep voice answered him, "everything is fine. The lady was about to take her leave," he added pointedly.

The man eyed the woman closely, who had a red hand print on her wrinkled cheek. He was surprised at the amount of venom she had in her eyes as she glared at the young couple.

"Leave!" Christine growled dangerously, surprising the older man, and finally making the decision for the older woman.

She walked slowly backward, before she finally turned around and disappeared among the crowds.

"An acquaintance I presume?" the older man inquired.

Erik nodded, his eyes still looking in the direction his mother had gone. "Yes, an old one. She did not like me very much," he replied.

"Well, she's an old fool then." The man quipped, and Erik's head snapped in his direction in surprise. His heart fluttered with joy when a chuckle escaped Christine's lips, as she shook her head in amusement at the older man's bold words.

"It's always a good day when I am able to put a smile on your face, my dear," he said, winking at Christine's amused expression. "Fear not, my dear, she is not from this town," he informed them. "So it won't be long before she takes her leave," he alluded pointedly, and they both smiled at him appreciatively.

He tapped his hat at them in farewell, before he took his leave as well. Christine immediately turned around to face Erik, her hands cupping his face gently, as her thumbs caressed his cheek softly. "Are you alright?" she asked worriedly, taking comfort when she felt his arms go around her waist.

He nodded solemnly at her, but she knew he was far from alright. His mother was one of the wounds that hadn't quite healed yet, and her words had echoed in his head since Christine told him about the pregnancy. He feared the child will look like him, but never voiced those fears out loud. But seeing his mother, seeing the surprise on her face at the knowledge that Christine was actually carrying his child, brought it all to the surface.

"She won't hurt you anymore," Christine soothed. "I won't let her," she added, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Of  _that_  I am quite certain," he teased. "That was quite the reaction, my dear," he added, and she was no fool, she was able to read between the lines.

"I know you're not used to someone standing up for you, especially against her, but I promised you before that I won't let anyone hurt you again," she vowed, before she leaned up and caught his lips in a passionate kiss.

"She robbed you of your childhood, don't let her rob us of our future as well," she reminded softly.

"What if she's right?" he asked softly, and she leaned back slightly, and furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "Right about what?"

"Our child. What if…." His question was halted by Christine's finger on his lips.

"Stop. I don't care what our child will look like, I will still love them with all my heart. We both will. Their childhood will be different." She promised, and he nodded, as he pressed his forehead against hers.

This was it, this was the beginning of their lives together. And it was going to be filled with love and joy, with no room for agony or misery. Christine was going to make up for each miserable moment he ever spent, and was determined to show their child the love he never felt, and was determined to prove to him or her that he was a good father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And alas, the story has come to its conclusion. It was a fun ride with you all, and I very much enjoyed reading your reviews, as no joy is greater to an author than when their work is appreciated. 
> 
> Check out my other stories in other fandoms, and I would like to know what you think of the semi-original one that is loosely based on a Turkish series. 
> 
> It was great having this wonderful fandom as readers.


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